STARLING. 


RURAL 
BIRD  LIFE  OF  ENGLAND 

BEING    ESSAYS    ON    ORNITHOLOGY 

WITH    INSTRUCTIONS    FOR     PRESERVING     OBJECTS 
RELATING    TO    THAT    SCIENCE     «««««««« 


BY 

CHARLES   DIXON 


WITH  FORTY-FIVE  ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  A  PREFACE 


By  DR.  ELLIOTT  COUES,  U.S.A. 

AUTHOR  OF* KEY  TO  NORTH  AMERICAN  BIRDS*  "FIELD  ORNI- 
THOLOGY* «  BIRDS- OF  THE  NORTHWEST*  ETC. 


THE  WERNER  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AKRON,  OHIO  CHICAGO 

1899 


B[OLOG» 
LIBRARY 

6 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 

BY 

THE  WERNER  COMPANY 

Kuntl  BirU  Life 


AMERICAN    EDITOR'S    PREFACE. 


THE  publication  of  Charles  Dixon's  "  Rural  Bird-Life "  in 
America  renders  it  desirable  to  say  a  few  words  by  way  of 
introducing  these  agreeable  Essays  on  Ornithology  to  the  read- 
ers whom  the  book  will  undoubtedly  win  for  itself  in  this 
country. 

It  might  seem  at  first  sight  unlikely  that  a  treatise  devoted 
entirely  to  British  Birds,  very  few  of  which  are  ever  seen  in  the 
United  States,  could  have  any  special  interest  for  the  new  circle 
of  acquaintances  to  whom  the  American  publishers  address  the 
work.  But  my  examination  of  these  pieces  of  bird-biography 
have  satisfied  me  that  their  merit  has  only  to  be  known  to  be 
appreciated  as  highly  here  as  elsewhere.  Mr.  Dixon's  example 
may  be  followed  with  no  less  profit  than  pleasure  in  this  coun- 
try ;  for  the  lessons  which  he  teaches  respecting  the  pursuit  of 
ornithology  are  restricted  in  their  applicability  to  the  native 
birds  of  no  single  region.  The  study  of  the  life  of  English  birds, 
under  this  author's  guidance  and  in  his  agreeable  company, 
will  go  far  toward  fitting  one  to  enter  easily  and  successfully 
upon  those  personal  experiences  with  our  native  species  which 
are  necessary  in'  order  to  become  a^good^  practical  ornithol- 
ogist. 


ic  a  good  practi 

967318 


AMERICAN  EDITORS  PREFACE. 


The  aspects  of  Nature  change  ceaselessly,  by  day  and  by 
night,  through  the  seasons  of  the  year,  with  every  difference  of 
latitude  and  longitude ;  and  endless  are  the  profusion  and 
variety  of  the  results  which  illustrate  the  operation  of  her  laws. 
But,  let  the  productions  of  different  climes  and  countries  be 
never  so  unlike,  she  works  by  the  same  methods ;  the  spirit  of 
her  teachings  never  changes;  Nature  herself  is  always  the 
same,  and  the  same  wholesome,  satisfying  lessons  are  to  be 
learned  in  the  contemplation  of  any  of  her  works.  We  may 
change  our  skies,  but  not  our  minds,  in  crossing  the  sea  to  gain 
a  glimpse  of  that  bird-life  which  finds  its  exact  counterpart  in 
our  own  woods  and  fields,  at  the  very  threshold  of  our  own 
homes. 

The  practical  utility  of  Mr.  Dixon's  work,  as  well  as  its 
adaptability  to  the  wants  of  American  students  and  amateur 
ornithologists,  may  easily  be  shown ;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to 
explain  exactly  how  the  book  may  be  used  to  great  advantage 
by  all  those  who  have  a  taste  for  natural-history  pursuits,  and 
a  desire  to  study  birds  in  earnest,  yet  hardly  know  how  to  make 
a  beginning. 

The  author  gives  more  or  less  perfect  sketches  —  in  some 
cases,  finished  pictures  —  of  the  habits  of  some  sixty  or  seventy 
kinds  of  British  Birds.  These  are  for  the  most  part  common 
and  familiar  species  in  his  country,  though  only  very  few  of  them 
—  such  as  the  ubiquitous  House  Sparrow  —  can  be  studied  in 
our  own.  I  would  advise  the  reader  to  turn  first  to  his  author's 
account  of  the  character  and  habits  of  that  bird,  to  see  whether 
or  not  it  agrees  with  his  own  experiences.  Should  it  be  found 
concordant,  as  far  as  it  goes,  with  Ills  own  observations,  he  may 
ask  himself  if  there  be  not  something  still  to  be  added,  as^  a 


AMERICAN  EDITORS  PREFACE.  v 

further  contribution  to  the  natural  history  of  this  interesting 
bird ;  and  he  may  not  impossibly  be  thus  stimulated  to  enter 
upon  original  investigations.  Should  he  differ  with  his  author 
in  any  particulars,  the  interesting  question  would  be  raised,  how 
far  the  domestic  economy  of  the  bird  has  been  modified  under 
the  new  conditions  of  its  transplantation.  Any  single  instance 
like  this  may  be  made,  at  the  hands  of  an  earnest  and  enthu- 
siastic student,  a  means  to  the  end  of  most  important  problems 
in  natural  history  —  like  Huxley's  Crayfish,  already  become  so 
famous  an  illustration  of  the  broadest  principles  of  biological 
science. 

Again,  let  the  reader  take  up  one  of  the  histories  of  some 
species  entirely  unknown  to  him  —  say  the  Song-Thrush  or  the 
Missel-Thrush  of  England  —  and  read  carefully  what  his  author 
has  to  say  of  these  birds.  He  scarcely  needs  to  be  informed  of 
the  fact  that  we  recognize  in  ornithology  what  are  called  "  rep- 
resentative species ; "  that  is,  species  of  one  country  which  take 
the  place  of,  correspond  to,  or  otherwise  represent  more  or  less 
closely  allied  species  of  another  country.  Having  found  out 
what  Mr.  Dixon  knows  of  the  Song-  or  Missel-Thrush,  let  him 
ask  himself  the  question,  "  Do  I  know  as  much  as  this  about 
the  Wood-Thrush  or  the  Hermit-Thrush  of  my  own  country? 
Could  I  give  as  complete  an  account  of  their  habits?  " 

The  point  is  very  clear,  —  Mr.  Dixon 's  book  is  nothing  if  not 
original.  I  have  seldom  examined  a  treatise  composed  of 
fresher  material,  or  one  relying  less  upon  the  authority  of  other 
writers.  This  is  marked  merit  for  the  days  when  one  of  the 
chief  uses  of  books  seems  to  be  to  breed  books,  and  when 
writers  in  ornithology  spend  in  their  libraries  much  time  that 
might  be  better  spent  in  the  field,  and  devote  more  attention 


AMERICAN  EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 


to  what  is  said  about  birds  by  others  than  to  the  story  that  birds 
themselves  will  tell  if  rightly  questioned.  The  student  of  Ameri- 
can ornithology  may  be  assured  that  he  cannot  find  out  for 
himself  as  much  about  our  birds  as  Mr.  Dixon  has  to  tell  him 
of  British  birds  without  becoming  a  good  practical  ornitholo- 
gist. Such  is  the  ground  on  which  I  recommend  the  volume 
to  his  attention ;  and  that  this  is  something  beyond  the  mere 
pleasure  he  may  derive  in  perusing  it  is  readily  to  be  per- 
ceived. 

In  furtherance  of  the  object  that  I  have  in  view  in  prefacing 
the  work  of  another  with  these  few  remarks,  I  would  call  the 
reader's  attention  to  the  following  lists  of  birds.  In  one  column 
is  the  list  of  species  treated  by  Mr.  Dixon,  with  their  technical 
names.  In  the  other  I  present  an  equal  number  of  American 
species,  the  study  of  whose  natural  history  may  profitably  be 
undertaken  according  to  the  author's  method  and  in  imitation 
of  his  example.  In  a  few  cases  only,  the  names  are  identical. 
In  some  other  instances,  they  are  those  of  strictly  representative 
birds.  But,  in  any  event,  the  two  columns  agree  closely  enough 
to  answer  the  purpose,  though  some  of  the  groups  of  British 
Birds  have  nothing  to  correspond  exactly  in  this  country. 


BRITISH  BIRDS.  AMERICAN  BIRDS. 

Song  Thrush .     .     .  Turdus  musicus.  Wood  Thrush     .     .  Turdus  mustelinus. 

Missel  Thrush    .     .  Turdus  viscivorus.  Hermit  Thrush       .  Turdus  pallasi. 

Redwing   ....  Turdus  iliacus.  Olive-backed  Thrush  Turdus  swainsoni. 

Fieldfare   ....  Turdus  pilaris.  Wilson's  Thrush     .  Turdus  fuscescens. 

Ring  Ouzel    .     .    .  Turdus  torquatus.  Varied  Thrush    .     .  Turdus  naevius. 

Blackbird  ....  Turdus  merula.  Robin Turdus  migratorius. 

Dipper Cinclus  aquaticus.  Dipper       ....  Cinclus  mexicanus. 

Hedge  Accentor     .  Accentor  modularis.  Oven-bird  ....  Siurus  auricapillus. 

Robin Erythacus  rubecula.  Bluebird    ....  Sialia  sialis. 

Redstart     .        .     .  Ruticilla  phcenicurus  Redstart    ....  Setophaga  ruricilla. 

Stonechat  ....  Pratincola  rubicola.  Thrasher  ....  Harporhynchus  rufus 

Wheatear      .     .    .  Saxicola  cenanthe.  Wheatear .     .     .     .  Saxicola  cenanthe. 


AMERICAN  EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 


vii 


BRITISH  BIRDS. 

AMERICAN  BIRDS. 

Whinchat  .... 

Pratincola  rubetra- 

Catbird      .... 

Mimus  carolinensis. 

Spotted  Flycatcher 

Muscicapa  grisola. 

Wood  Pewee      .     . 

Contopus  virens. 

Blackcap   .... 

Sylvia  atricapiMa. 

Black-poll      .     .     . 

Dendroeca  atricapilla. 

Whitethroat  .     .     . 

Sylvia  rufa. 

Yelldw-rump  .     .     . 

Dendroeca  coronata. 

Willow  Warbler      . 

Phylloscopus  trochilus. 

Summer  Warbler    . 

Dendroeca  sestiva. 

Chiffchaff.     .     .     . 

Phylloscopus  collybita. 

Green  Warbler  .     . 

Dendrceca  virens. 

Sedge  Warbler  .    . 

i  Calamodus      schoeno-  ; 
1      baenus. 

\  Yellow-throat     .    . 

Geothlypis  trichas. 

Gold-crested  Kinglet  Regulus  cristatus. 

Gold-crested  Kinglet 

Regulus  satrapa. 

Great  Titmouse.     . 

Panis  major. 

Tufted  Titmouse     . 

Lophophanes  bicolor. 

Blue  Titmouse   . 

Parus  cceruleus. 

Verdin 

Auriparus  flaviceps- 

Cole  Titmouse   .     . 

Parus  ater. 

Chickadee     .     .     . 

Parus  atricapillus. 

Long-tailed  Titmons 

te  Acredula  caudata. 

Bush  Tit    .... 

Psaltriparus  minimus. 

Wagtails    .... 

Motacilla. 

Wagtail     .... 

Budytes  flava  (?). 

Tree  Pipit      .     .     . 

Anthus  trivialis. 

Sprague's  Lark  .     . 

Neocorys  spraguii. 

Meadow  Pipit    .     . 

Anthus  pratensis. 

Titlark.     .... 

Anthus  ludovicianus. 

Skylark     .... 

Alauda  arvensis. 

Shore  Lark         .     . 

Eremophila  alpestris. 

Yellow  Bunting  .     . 

Emberiza  citrinella. 

Towhee  Bunting     .  j 

Pipilo  erythrophthal- 
mus. 

Common  Bunting    . 

Emberiza  miliaria. 

Song  Sparrow     .    . 

Melospiza  fasciata. 

Reed  Bunting    .     . 

Emberiza  schoeniclus. 

Savanna  Sparrow    . 

Passerculus  savana. 

Chaffinch  .... 

Fringilla  ccelebs. 

Indigo  Bird   .    .     . 

Passerina  cyanea. 

<  Fringilla  montifringil- 

Rose-breasted  Gros- 

Zamelodia    ludovici- 

Brambling 

i     la. 

beak       .... 

ana. 

House  Sparrow  .     . 

Passer  domesticus. 

House  Sparrow  .    . 

Passer  domesticus. 

Tree  Sparrow     .     . 

Passer  montanus. 

Tree  Sparrow     .     . 

Spizella  monticola. 

Bullfinch   .... 

Pyrrhula  europsea. 

Purple  Finch     .    . 

Carpodacus  purpureus. 

Linnet  

Linota  cannabina. 

Pine  Finch    .     .    . 

Chrysomitris  pinus. 

Redpoll      .... 

./Egiothus  linaria. 

Redpoll     .... 

^Egiothus  linaria. 

Kl^rlr  til   r\   tAfJ 

Greenfinch     .     .     . 

Ligurinus  chloris. 

Bunting     .     .    .  i 

Euspiza  americana. 

Goldfinch  .... 

Carduelis  elegans. 

Goldfinch  .... 

Astragalinus  tristis. 

Starling     .... 

Sturnus  vulgaris. 

Field  Lark     .    .     . 

Sturnella  magna. 

Jackdaw    .... 

Corvus  monedula. 

Purple  Grakle    .    . 

Quiscalus  purpureus. 

Carrion  Crow     .     . 

Corvus  corone. 

Common  Crow   .    . 

Corvus  americanus. 

Rook              .     .     . 

Corvus  frugilegus 

Fish  Crow     .     .    . 

Corvus  ossifragus. 

Magpie      .... 

Pica  rustica. 

Magpie     .... 

Pica  hudsonica. 

Jay  

Garrulus  glandarius. 

Jay  

Cyanocitta  cristata. 

Woodpecker  .     .     . 

Picus  major. 

Woodpecker  .     .     . 

Picus  villosus. 

Creeper     .... 

Certhia  famihari*. 

Creeper     .... 

Certhia  familiaris. 

Wren    

Troglodytes  parvuius- 

(  Troglodytes   domesti- 
House  Wren      .     .  1 
(      cus. 

Kingfisher      .     .     . 

Alcedo  ispida. 

Kingfisher      .    .     . 

Ceryle  alcyon. 

Cuckoo  

Cuculus  canorus. 

Cuckoo      .... 

Coccygus  americanus. 

Swallow    .... 

Hirundo  nistica. 

Swallow     .... 

Hirundo  horreorum. 

Martin  

Chelidon  urbica. 

Martin  

Progne  subis. 

Swift 

Cypselus  apus* 

Swift 

Chxtura  pelagica. 

Kestrel  .    - 

Falco  tinnunculus. 

Sparrow  Hawk  .    . 

Fa1  co  sparverius. 

AMERICAN  EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 


BRITISH  BIRDS. 
Sparrow  Hawk  .     .     Accipiter  nisus. 


Barn  Owl  .     . 

.     .     Aluco  flammeus. 

Barn  Owl  .    .     .    . 

Ring  Dove     . 

.     .     Columba  palumbus. 

Carolina  Dove  .     . 

Pheasant  .     . 

.     .     Phasianus  colchicus. 

Spruce  Grouse    .     . 

Partridge  .    . 

.     .     Perdix  cinerea. 

Ruffed  Grouse    .     . 

Ouail 

("*nt    r    "      r 

Bob^white 

Red  Grouse  . 

.    .    Lagopus  scoticus. 

Ptarmigan      .     .     . 

Lapwing    .    . 

.    .    Vanellus  cristatus 

Killdeer    .     .     .     . 

Sandpiper 

i  Tringoides     hypoleu- 
'  1     cus. 

}  Sandpiper  .... 

Snipe    . 

•         'Gallinago  gallinaria 

Snipe     

Land  Rail      . 

.     .     Crex  pntensis. 

Water  Rail    .    .     . 

Moorhen    .     . 

.    .    Gallinula  rh'oropus. 

Gallinule  .... 

Coot      .     .     . 

•     Fulica  atra- 

Coot     .         .         . 

Swan     .    . 

Cvgntis  olor. 

AMERICAN  BIRDS 
Sharp-shinned  Hawk  Accipiter  fuscus. 

Aluco  pratincola. 
I  Zenaidura    carolinen- 
I      sis. 

Canace  canadensis. 

Bonasa  umbellus. 

Ortyx  virginiana. 

Lagopus  albus. 

yEgialitis  vocifera. 
i  Tringoides    macula- 
I      rius. 

Gallinago  wilsoni. 

Porzana  Carolina. 

Gallinula  galeata. 


ELLIOTT   COUES. 


WASHINGTON,  D.C. 


PREFACE. 


I  HAVE  now  for  years  been  engaged  in  a  study  of  Orni- 
thology ;  and  from  my  numerous  notes,  principally  on 
the  economy  of  our  commoner  inland  birds,  I  conceived 
the  idea  that  from  them  might  be  compiled  a  little 
volume  that  might  doubtless  prove  of  interest  to  those 
persons  who  have  a  love  for  rural  pursuits  and  the  study 
of  nature.  There  are  also  I  believe  a  few  fresh  facts 
on  the  economy  of  birds  noted,  which  I  respectfully 
submit  to  working  ornithologists,  as  well  as  several 
moot  questions,  relating  to  the  natural  history  of 
birds,  discussed,  and  opinions,  gained  by  experience, 
promulgated. 

Had  I  spent  more  of  my  time  amongst  books  instead 
of  amongst  bogs,  I  have  no  doubt  but  what  this  little 
volume  would  have  found  more  favour  amongst  a  certain 
class  of  naturalists,  no  matter  how  questionable  or 
erroneous  the  matter  it  contained.  But  such  was  never 
my  intention.  A  work  purely  original  I  intended  it  to 
be — a  work  whose  materials  have  been  obtained  by  un- 


PREFACE. 


wearied  personal  observation  in  the  field  and  the  forest, 
and  for  the  most  part  written  in  the  several  -haunts  of 
the  birds  described,  and  free  from  the  harsh,  and,  in  a 
measure,  unmeaning  technicalities  with  which  at  the 
present  time  ornithology  is  so  pervaded,  to  the  utter 
confusion  of  every  aspirant  to  this  delightful  science. 

If,  through  a  perusal  of  this  unpretending  little 
volume,  I  may  be  the  remote  cause  of  sending  a  few 
fresh  labourers  into  the  vineyard  of  ornithology,  my 
labours  have  not  been  in  vain,  and  it  will  please  me  much. 
Should  the  then  intending  ornithologist  wish  for  a  more 
technical  insight  into  the  science  he  has  adopted,  I  re- 
commend him  to  acquaint  himself  with  one  of  the  few 
useful  exhaustive  works  on  this  science,  where  he  will 
obtain  the  information  he  seeks. 

My  object  in  giving  publicity  to  this  little  work  has 
been  solely  to  excite  a  love  for  the  study  of  the  feathered 
tribes — to  place  in  a  popular  form  the  true  economy  of 
birds,  showing  their  relations  and  positions  in  Nature's 
great  system  ;  and  to  thee,  gentle  reader,  I  leave  the 
task  of  saying  if  I  have  succeeded.  With  these  few 
remarks  I  commit  it  to  your  considerate  care. 

CHARLES   DIXON. 
HEELEY,  NEAR  SHEFFIELD 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PAIRING  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS i 

PROTECTIVE  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS 7 

HABITS  OF  BIRDS .17 

THE  SONG-THRUSH         .        .        .  24 

THE  MISSEL-THRUSH  .        .        . -~_      31 

THE  REDWING  AND  FIELDFARE  .  -.  .  .  .  •  •  39 
THE  RING  OUSEL  ...  .  '*  .  .  .  *  •  .  .  47 
THE  BLACKBIRD  .  .  .  .  . '  .  .  ' -.  .  .  '  .  .  52 

THE  DIPPER        ....  58 

THE  HEDGE  ACCENTOR          .  .....      65 

THE  ROBIN  . 70 

THE  REDSTART       .        .        .        .  .        .        .•       .     .       78 

THE  STONECHAT  AND  WHEATEAR      .        .  .        .        .82 

THE  WHINCHAT      ..........       89 

THE  SPOTTED  OR  GRAY  FLYCATCHER         .....       94 

THE  BLACKCAP  AND  WHITETHROATS 99 

THE  WILLOW  WARBLER 108 

THE  WOOD  WREN,  CHIFFCHAFF*  AND  SEDGE  WARBLER  .114 

THE  GOLD-CRESTED  KINGLET     .        .        .  .        .        .120 

THE  GREAT  TITMOUSE  AND  BLUE  TITMOUSE        .        .        .    .     125 


xii  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  COLE  TITMOUSE  AND  LONG-TAILED  TITMOUSE  .        .131 

WAGTAILS 137 

THE  TREE  PIPIT 146 

THE  MEADOW  PIPIT 150 

THE  SKYLARK 156 

THE  YELLOW  BUNTING  .........  162 

THE  COMMON  BUNTING  AND  REED  BUNTING    ....  167 

THE  CHAFFINCH  AND  BRAMBLING 171 

THE  HOUSE  SPARROW  AND  TREE  SPARROW       .        .        .        .179 

THE  BULLFINCH      .        .        .        4 185 

THE  LINNET  AND  REDPOLL        .        .'       ....      .        .        .        .189 

THE  GREENFINCH  AND  GOLDFINCH        .        .        .        .        .     .  195 

THE  STARLING 201 

THE  JACKDAW  AND  CARRION  CROW      .         .        .        .         .     .  207 

THE  ROOK 213 

THE  MAGPIE 222 

THE  JAY 227 

THE  WOODPECKER  AND  CREEPER  .        .        .        .        .             .  231 

THE  WREN .        .  237 

THE  KINGFISHER 242 

THE  CUCKOO 247 

THE  SWALLOW        ..........  257 

MARTINS •;  264 

THE  SWIFT 270 

THE  KESTREL 274 

THE  SPARROWHAWK •     .     .  280 

THE  BARN  OWL.        .                287 

THE  RING  DOVE 292 


CONTENTS.  xiii 


PAGE 

THE  PHEASANT 298 

\ 

THE  PARTRIDGE  AND  QUAIL 303 

THE  RED  GROUSE        .        . 309 

THE  LAPWING         .        .         .         .        .        .        .        .  315 

THE  COMMON  SANDPIPER 320 

THE  SNIPE      .       - .'       .        .     .  326 

THE  LANDRAIL -33* 

THE  MOORHEN  AND  COOT      .        .        „        .        .        ...  337 

THE  SWAN 343 

EVERGREENS  AND  BIRD-LIFE 347 

HINTS  TO  ORNITHOLOGISTS         . 354 

INSTRUCTIONS    FOR   THE    PRESERVATION  OF   ORNITHOLOGICAL 

OBJECTS 363 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


STARLING 
MAGPIE 
MARTINS  . 
PHEASANT 


PLATES. 


to  face  page 


222 
264 
298 


WOODCUTS    IN   TEXT, 


SONG-THRUSH     ...  24 

REDWING  AND  FIELDFARE  39 

BLACKBIRD      .        .        .     .  52 

DIPPER        .        .         .        .  58 

HEDGE  ACCENTOR          .     .  65 
ROBIN          .        .        .         -70 

WHEATEAR     .        .        .     .  82 

WHINCHAT         .        .        .  89 

SPOTTED  FLYCATCHER        .  94 


WARBLER  .         .     108 

SEDGE  WARBLER    .  .     .     114 
GOLD-CRESTED  KINGLET     .     120 

GREAT  TITMOCSE  .        .     125 

WAGTAILS       .        .  ..137 

MEADOW  PIPIT  .  .         -150 

SKYLARK        .        .  .     .     156 

REED  BUNTING  .  .        .167 

CHAFFINCH    .        .  .     .     171 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE     | 

PAGE 

TREE  SPARROW  . 

I79 

SWALLOW       .        .        .     . 

257 

BULLFINCH     .        .        .     . 

I85 

KESTREL      .... 

274 

LINNET        . 

I89 

SPARROWHAWK       .        .     . 

280 

GOLDFINCH    .                .     . 

195 

BARN  OWL. 

287 

JACKDAW     . 

207 

RING  DOVE    .        ... 

292 

ROOK      

2I3 

PARTRIDGE  .... 

303 

JAY      

227 

RED  GROVSE  .        .        .     . 

3°9 

GREAT      SPOTTED     WOOD- 

LAPWING    .... 

3^5 

PECKER    .         ... 

231 

SNIPE     

326 

WREN          .... 

237 

MOORHEN   .        .  •      <    *   . 

337 

KINGFISHER  .        .        .    . 

242 

SWAN     .        .        .        .     • 

343 

CUCKOO      .                . 

247 

BLOWPIPE  AND  DRILL 

363 

RURAL    BIRD    LIFE. 


PAIRING   INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS. 

COURTEOUS  READER,  before  noticing  the  haunts  and 
economy  of  any  particular  bird,  it  may  not  be  out  of 
place  to  give  thee  a  short  collective  account  of  their 
pairing  instincts,  the  many  and  varied  arts  birds  dis- 
play for  the  safety  of  their  eggs  or  young,  and  also  a 
few  remarks  on  the  habits  of  birds  in  general. 

The  pairing  instinct  of  birds  has  always  been  a  sub- 
ject of  much  dispute  amongst  naturalists,  and  indeed 
one  of  a  very  perplexing  nature.  I  have  found  it  to  be 
a  subject  which  few  writers  on  ornithology  treat  with  a 
proper  amount  of  care,  while  others  refrain  entirely  from 
introducing  it  into  their  works.  I  consider  it  to  be  one 
of  the  most  important  traits  in  the  character  of  the 
feathered  tribes — an  amount  of  instinct  given  alike  to 
the  lordly  Eagle  and  the  diminutive  Wren,  and  that, 
no  matter  under  whicli  gartjqala?  divifeip^  it  may  come, 
harmonises  with,  and  ^Js  ;  essential  td;  the  habits  and 
requirements  of  the' birds  ora£ljs"rfig;it;\"  ;  ;\ 

Birds  may  be  divfdecTirifcd  three 'classes ;  viz.,  firstly, 
those  birds  which,  having  once  paired,  remain  together 
for  life  ;  secondly,  birds  which  pair  annually  ;  and  thirdly, 
birds  which  never  pair,  but  are  polygamous.  The  young 

B 


RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


naturalist  must  bear  in  mind  that  every  bird,  no  matter 
of  what  species  or  inhabiting  what  part  of  the  globe, 
comes  under  one  of  these  three  divisions.  I  will  briefly 
glance  at  these  three  divisions,  and  give  the  opinions  I 
have  arrived  at  in  a  matter  to  which  I  have  paid  no 
small  degree  of  care  and  attention. 

We  will  take,  firstly,  those  birds  which  pair  for  life. 
Swallows  are  an  excellent  type  of  this  class,  returning 
annually  to  their  old  nesting-sites  for  the  same  purpose 
as  previously.  The  Martin  returns  to  its  old  nest.  But 
to  some  this  may  appear  incredible,  knowing  that  these 
birds  perform  long  migrations,  and  may  get  separated 
while  upon  them.  Do  these  birds  get  finally  separated 
when  in  large  companies  they  are  searching  the  air  for 
their  food  ?  or  do  Rooks,  Starlings,  and  Jackdaws  fail 
to  remember  the  position  of  their  nests  ?  The  same 
instinct  which  informs  the  Swallows  when  to  leave 
Africa,  in  like  manner  urges  them  onwards  to  their  old 
nests ;  and  again  the  same  pair  of  birds  will  perform 
the  duties  of  incubation.  We  all  know  that  the  same 
nesting-site  will  be  yearly  tenanted,  provided  the  birds 
are  left  unmolested.  This  must  be  by  the  same  pair  of 
birds,  not  their  young,  as  is  erroneously  supposed,  for 
what  ornithologist  has  ever  in  the  course  of  his  observa- 
tions seen  swallows  prying  about  into  barns  and  out- 
buildings in  search  of  some  old  nest,  which  will  save 
them  the  labour  of  constructing  one  themselves  ?  The 
time  would  be  ,sq  taken  up  in  this,  search,  that  no  brood 
would  be  rearejd:,:  Youiig  tfVds  pair  most  likely  before 
their  migration  to  ,us,  and  search  out  nesting-sites*  upon 
their  arrival'  in:  this  cointfsy ._:,'. 

Again,  the  Rook  is  another  bird  which  I  believe 
pairs  for  life.  At  the  commencement  of  the  breeding 
season  rooks  (unmolested  by  the  other  members  of  the 


PAIRING  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS. 


rookery)  return  to  their  old  nests,  and  commence  doing 
the  necessary  repairs  required  for  the  comfort  of  their 
future  brood  ;  while  others,  whose  nests  have  been  des- 
troyed, diligently  set  to  work  to  reconstruct  them  in  the 
same  sites,  in  company  with  many  of  the  last  year's  brood 
which  have  paired  some  time  during  the  previous  six 
months.  Can  any  ornithologist  inform  me  of  any  com- 
bat he  has  been  witness  to  for  the  choice  of  the  nests 
which  have  withstood  the  storms  of  winter  ?  A  few 
pairs  of  rooks  will  sometimes  desert  the  general  rookery 
and  build  their  nests  in  neighbouring  trees,  returning  to 
them  yearly. 

Ravens,  Magpies,  Jackdaws,  Starlings,  House  Spar- 
rows, birds  of  the  Falcon  tribe  and  Titmice,  have  all 
been  known  to  return  to  their  nests  of  the  previous 
season.  J  have  known  the  Robin  and  the  Wren  return 
to  their  old  sites  (but  not  to  the  old  nests)  for  several 
years.  From  what  I  have  observed,  the  Ringdove  and 
Partridge  too  are  very  probably  life- paired  species. 
From  these  instances  I  would  infer  that  all  birds  which 
return  to  their  old  nests  or  nesting-sites  for  the  same 
purpose  every  season  pair  for  life.  Witness  the  various 
marks  of  affection  constantly  passing  between  life-paired 
birds :  keeping  in  each  other's  company,  feeding,  often 
the  male  bird  feeding  his  mate,  flying  and  roosting 
together,  so  that  the  observer,  as  a  rule,  experiences  but 
little  difficulty  in  identifying  them.  Ovid  must  have 
had  life-paired  birds  in  mind  when  he  wrote  the  follow- 
ing lines  expressive  of  constancy  in  the  male  bird  : — 

Hanc  cupit,  hanc  optat ;  sola  suspirat  in  ilia  ; 
Signaque  dat  nutu,  solicitatque  notis. 

In  the  second  place,  those  birds  which  pair  annually  : 
the  birds  which  form  this  division  are  the  most  numerous 


RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


of  any.  We  have  many  instances  of  this  class  :  as  a 
good  type  we  will  take  the  Willow  Warbler.  When 
these  birds  first  arrive  in  this  country  they  are  never  in 
pairs,  and  indeed  the  male  birds  arrive  a  little  before 
the  females.  But  observe  them  a  few  weeks  later  ;  they 
have  all  found  a  mate,  and  are  employed  in  domestic 
duties.  It  is  the  nature  of  these  birds  to  make  fresh 
nests  every  season,  and  never,  in  the  same  position  or 
locality.  When  once  these  birds  have  left  their  nests, 
and  the  young  can  forage  for  themselves,  I  firmly 
believe  all  connection  between  the  two  birds  ceases  ; 
the  nests  are  abandoned,  never  to  be  returned  to,  and 
the  birds  roam  about  searching  for  food,  very  often 
solitary,  until  the  time  of  migration  arrives.  Several  of 
the  Thrushes  are  for  the  most  part  solitary  in  their 
habits  except  in  the  breeding  season,  while  others  roam 
about  in  flocks,  very  often  the  males  or  females  being 
predominant ;  but  as  spring  arrives,  separating  into  pairs 
for  incubation,  after  which  the  same  routine  is  again 
repeated.  The  Chaffinch  is  the  same — in  flocks  during 
the  winter,  the  sexes  not  at  all  social  ;  but  as  the  breed- 
ing season  approaches  they  are  again  seen  in  pairs  for 
the  propagation  of  their  species.  The  Snipes,  Plovers, 
and  Rails  all  pair  annually,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Moorhen  and  Coot  when  living  in  a  semi-domesticated 
state.  In  the  same  manner  the  Buntings,  Larks,  many 
of  the  Finches,  Warblers,  all  pair  in  their  due  season. 

All  these  birds'  nests,  after  once  serving  their  pur- 
pose, are  abandoned  for  ever :  a  walk  round  the  leafless 
hedges  will  confirm  this.  Will  the  frail  little  White- 
throat  use  yon  abode  again  ?  or  will  yonder  Chaffinches' 
nest  ever  more  harbour  another  brood  ?  Will  the  Sand- 
piper return  to  the  cavity  which  once  contained  her 
eggs  ?  or  the  Skylark  seek  out  her  home  in  the  mea- 


PAIRING  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS.  5 

dow  grass  again  ?  These  birds  pair  annually,  and  of 
course  select  each  successive  year  a  fresh  situation  for 
the  birthplace  of  their  young.  In  the  third  place,  we 
will  take  that  class  of  birds  which  never  pair,  or  are 
polygamous.  It  is  only  in  one  division  of  our  present 
classification  that  we  can  trace  those  of  polygamous 
habits — in  the  first  section  of  the  Gallinaceous  birds. 

In  all  birds  which  are  polygamous  the  female  alone 
is  entrusted  with  all  care  of  the  eggs  or  young,  and  she, 
through  a  wise  provision  of  Nature,  is  made  equal  to  the 
emergency.  The  male  shows  little  or  no  affection  for 
them.  From  this  I  would  infer  that  all  birds  of  the 
Gallinaceous  order,  with  few  exceptions,  are  polygamous. 

I  proceed  now  to  give  exceptions,  which  tend  greatly 
to  perplex  and  bewilder  the  observer  in  the  study  of 
this  interesting  subject.  This  matter  presents  very 
little  uniformity  in  its  arrangement.  In  the  Gallina- 
ceous order  of  birds  the  first  section  are  polygamous  in 
their  habits ;  but  even  to  this  the  Red  Grouse,  for 
instance,  forms  an  exception  ,  while  the  latter  section  of 
these  birds,  birds  of  the  pigeon  tribe,  to  wit,  are  decidedly 
monogamous  in  their  habits. 

The  House  Sparrow  returns  to  its  nesting- site,  and  is 
thus  at  variance  with  its  congeners  of  the  same  family. 
The  tame  Duck  is  polygamous ;  but  observe  its  wild  re- 
presentative, the  Mallard,  which  separates  into  pairs  for 
nidification.  The  Long-tailed  Titmouse  never  returns 
to  its  beautiful  abode,  while  the  Blue  Titmouse  appears 
annually  at  its  hole  in  the  hollow  tree.  The  Goatsucker 
annually  pairs,  while  Swallows,  Swifts,  and  Martins,  I 
believe,  remain  united. for  life.  The  Rook  I  have  once 
observed  practising  polygamous  propensities,  a  fact  per- 
haps never  before  recorded. 

Are  those  birds  which  pair   for  life  gifted  with  a 


RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


greater  amount  of  affection  than  those  which  pair  every 
season,  and  what  ends  are  gained  by  such  procedure  ? 
While  those  who  pair  eveiy  season,  as  soon  as  the  young 
are  sufficiently  matured  to  take  care  of  themselves,  do 
the  ties  which  previously  united  them  together  entirely 
cease,  and  for  what  reason  ?  Is  this  peculiar  instinct, 
call  it  affection  if  you  will,  wanting  in  polygamous  birds, 
and  why  ?  Is  it  because  the  presence  of  the  males  would 
probably,  owing  to  their  conspicuous  colours,  &c.,  lead 
to  the  destruction  of  their  brood,  were  they  to  share  the 
duties  of  incubation  with  the  females  ?  If  this  be  so,  we 
cannot  but  admire  the  peculiar  instinct  which  exists 
within  them,  and  instead  of  considering  the  male  bird 
wanting  in  affection  for  his  mate  and  offspring,  by  his* 
very  absence  he  contributes  largely  to  their  welfare. 
In  many  species  of  birds — notably  the  water  birds — it  is 
difficult  to  say  under  which  of  my  first  two  divisions  they 
fall.  This  subject,  deeply  pondered,  only  tends  to  show 
us  upon  what  an  intricate  foundation  the  system  of 
Nature  is  based  ;  and,  though  apparently  of  but  small 
moment,  we  may  rest  assured  that  the  part  it  plays  in 
the  economy  of  the  feathered  race  is  no  unimportant 
one. 


PROTECTIVE  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS. 


PROTECTIVE  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS. 

Safety  depends  on  vigilance. 

A  PERSON  frequently  in  the  haunts  of  the  feathered 
tribes  during  the  nesting  season,  will  not  fail  to  observe  the 
numerous  artifices  these  creatures  practise  for  the  safety 
of  their  nests,  eggs,  or  young ;  and  though  these  little 
artifices  are  often  of  a  varied  nature,  yet  but  one  end  is 
in  view,  and  that  the  preservation  of  their  treasure.  But, 
it  is  naturally  asked,  What  is  the  cause  of  these  peculiar 
motions,  and  what  prompts  the  birds  to  practise  them  r 
Instinct,  not  imitation,  explains  fully  the  cause,  and 
instinct  again  explains  the  prompting  power.  If  imita- 
tion were  the  theory  on  which  they  worked,  all  birds 
would  practise  these  powers  in  the  same  manner  as  their 
parents  did  before  them.  But  this  is  not  s*o,  for  many, 
if  not  all  birds,  at  some  period  of  their  existence,  are 
called  upon  to  exert  their  powers  in  a  manner  befitting 
and  harmonising  with  surrounding  circumstances.  Can 
we,  therefore,  explain  this  power  by  anything  save  a 
protective  instinct  ? — an  instinct  which  is  as  infallible  as 
the  great  and  mighty  Power  which  causes  the  creature  to 
manifest  it.  I  would  here,  gentle  reader,  have  thee  to 
understand  that  none  of  the  varied  protective  arts  dis- 
played by  birds  in  guarding  their  eggs  or  young  are  due 
to  forethought.  To  credit  the  bird  with  this  power  would 
be  to  endow  it  with  reason  at  once — a  power  found  in 


RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


noble  man  alone.  A  bird  has  not  the  remotest  idea  that 
its  nest  will  be  plundered,  or  its  young  destroyed,  but  it 
has  existing  within  it,  and  planted  there  through  the 
agency  of  a  subtle  and  powerful  law,  a  certain  power 
which  we  call  '  instinct/  which  it  irresistibly  displays  in  its 
own  particular  manner,  without  any  knowledge  of  the 
good  it  is  working  for  the  protection  and  safety  of  its 
eggs  and  young  ;  yet  in  such  an  effectual  manner  are 
these  wiles  displayed,  as  to  keep  up  its  species  till  time 
shall  be  no  more,  or  Nature's  designing  hand  wills  that 
its  race  shall  cease  to  be. 

I  intend  dividing  this  peculiar  instinct  into  six  divi- 
sions, and  will  take  them  in  the  following  order:—  Firstly, 
colour  ;  secondly,  mimicry  ;  thirdly,  silence ;  fourthly, 
alluring  motions  ;  fifthly,  pugnacious  motions ;  and, 
sixthly,  deceptive  motions. 

Colour. — If  we  wish  to  observe  examples  of  this  pe- 
culiar instinct,  we  must  stroll  into  the  nesting-grounds  of 
the  Pheasant,  for  instance,  and  there  we  shall  find  that  the 
female  bird,  with  a  mother's  watchful  care,  upon  leaving 
her  charge  for  a  short  time  to  recruit  her  failing  strength 
with  necessary  food,  covers  her  eggs  with  pieces  of  vege- 
tation strictry  harmonising  with  the  colour  of  the  herbage 
around.  Thus,  if  her  nest  —or  cavity,  for  a  nest  it  can 
scarcely  be  called — in  which  her  eggs  are  deposited  is 
situated  amongst  a  tangled  mass  of  bracken,  the  bird 
will  cover  her  eggs  with  the  same  material.  Should  her 
eggs  be  snugly  ensconced  in  the  shelter  of  a  tuft  of  grass, 
materials  harmonising  in  colour  will  be  used  to  cover 
them  during  her  temporary  absence.  When  the  bird  is 
upon  her  charge,  her  own  plumage  so  closely  resem- 
bles the  surroundings,  that,  trusting  in  these  for  safety, 
she  remains  faithful  to  it,  until  perhaps  unwittingly 
trodden  upon  by  an  intruder.  Again,  the  Sand  Grouse 


PROTECTIVE  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS.  9 

are  striking  instances  of  this  peculiar  form  of  instinct. 
Their  colours  so  harmonise  with  those  of  the  arid  waste 
on  which  they  live,  that  when  the  birds  are  sitting  upon 
their  eggs  discovery  is  almost  impossible.  The  Red 
Grouse,  when  sitting,  so  closely  resembles  the  moorland 
vegetation  around,  that  the  finding  of  her  treasure  is  due 
more  to  accident  than  design  ;  and  well  does  the  parent 
bird  know  in  what  direction  safety  lies,  and  unerringly 
does  she  adhere  to  it.  The  Terns  and  most  shore  birds, 
impelled  by  the  same  protective  instinct,  deposit  their  eggs 
only  upon  those  portions  of  the  beach  which  display  the 
same  tints  as  they  do.  In  this  manner  numerous  in- 
stances might  be  brought  forth  as  examples,  but  the 
remarks  upon  this  somewhat  lengthy  subject  must  of 
necessity  be  brief.  We  will  now,  therefore,  glance  at  the 
next  division. 

Mimicry. — This  peculiar  form  of  instinct  is  closely 
allied  to  the  preceding  one,  and  if  it  were  not  for  a  few 
incidents  peculiar  only  to  this  division,  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  distinguish  more  than  a  slight  difference  between 
them.  One  of  the  first  birds  gifted  with  this  instinct  is 
the  gay  little  Chaffinch.  Observe  how  closely  she  imi- 
tates the  surroundings  in  the  structure  of  her  nest,  how 
beautifully  it  is  silvered  over  with  lichen,  if  on  the  rugged 
branch  of  a  tree  covered  with  similar  material.  If  in  the 
centre  of  a  glossy  evergreen,  lichens  are  discarded,  and 
bright  shining  green  moss  substituted  in  their  place.  If 
in  the  centre  of  a  hawthorn,  bedecked  with  fair  and 
"beautiful  flowers,  protective  instinct  impels  her  to  gild 
her  handiwork  with  small  scraps  of  paper,  so  that,  to  a 
casual  eye,  the  whole  structure,  imitating  as  it  does  the 
flowers  around,  appears  a  tangled  mass  of  bloom.  How 
artfully  does  the  Water  Ouzel  imitate  the  colour  of 
surrounding  objects  her  nest  being  invariably  placed 


ro  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

near  a  running  stream,  amongst  the  brightest  moss, 
composed  of  similar  materials  ;  the  dampness  of  the 
situation  keeping  them  in  all  their  verdant  beauty,  and 
thus  concealing  the  nest  of  the  bird,  whose  protective 
instinct  lies  in  utilising  them  for  her  purpose.  The 
beautiful  nest  of  the  Long-tailed  Titmouse  is  again  an 
instance  of  this  protective  instinct,  and  so  is  that  of  the 
Wren.  The  Robin  also  finds  safety  under  its  banner, 
and  the  delicately  formed  Gold-crest  assimilates  her 
nest  to  surrounding  circumstances  by  weaving  the 
branches  of  the  fir  amongst  moss  of  the  same  colour, 
the  whole  appearing  to  a  careless  eye  nothing  but  a 
mass  of  foliage.  And  then  how  beautifully  do  the 
sombre  greens  of  the  little  Dunnock's  nest  contrast  with 
the  colours  of  the  vernal  year  around.  In  all  these 
cases  how  artfully  and  well  the  little  architects  use  to 
the  best  advantage  those  materials  which  their  unerring 
instinct  leads  them  to  make  use  of  for  the  welfare  of 
their  young. 

Silence. — Perhaps  many  persons  will  scarcely  com- 
prehend this  peculiar  form  of  instinct,  yet  such  a  form 
does  undoubtedly  exist,  and  that  too  in  many  of  our 
commonest  birds.  Take,  for  instance,  the  little  Willow 
Warbler,  and  note  carefully  how  she  leaves  her  tem- 
porary home.  Her  nest  being  often  ill  concealed, 
silence  is  her  forte  and  well  does  she  practise  it. 
Observe  the  garrulous  little  Whitethroat  leave  her  nest, 
so  silently  threading  her  way  from  her  treasure — so 
silently  as  to  be  seldom  heard ;  and  then,  when  at  a 
safe  distance  from  the  neighbourhood  of  her  abode, 
how  joyously  she  gives  forth  notes  of  seeming  defiance 
and  alarm.  How  often  does  the  silent  protective 
instinct  of  the  Dartford  Warbler  manifest  itself,  the 
bird  when  scared  from  its  nest  leaving  it  silently,  and 


PROTECTIVE  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS.  11 

going  for  a  considerable  distance  under  the  surrounding 
vegetation  ere  it  appears,  by  its  silent  motions  thus  lead- 
ing an  inexperienced  intruder  far  away  from  her  treasured 
home.  Again,  how  silently  the  Bunting  leaves  her  charge, 
and  what  a  deceptive  little  creature  is  the  Grasshopper 
Warbler !  I  have  often  been  deceived  by  their  silent 
motions  when  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their  nests. 
Silence,  again,  is  the  protective  instinct  of  many  of  the 
Thrushes,  some  of  them  remaining  faithful  to  their  charge 
until  compelled  to  leave  it,  and  then  as  silently  as  pos- 
sible. But  should  the  bird  find  her  nest  discovered  quite 
accidentally,  as  many  are,  her  instinct  is  not  put  in  force, 
and  the  faithful  parent  flies  quickly  off,  and  anxiously 
watches  the  movements  of  the  aggressor  from  her  perch- 
ing-place  near  at  hand.  I  have  known  many  of  these  birds 
allow  themselves  to  be  touched  by  the  hand,  and  remain 
silent,  trying  to  the  utmost  their  peculiar  protective  in- 
stinct for  the  welfare  of  their  treasured  eggs  or  young.  The 
Pipits,  again,  employ  silence  for  the  safety  of  their  nests, 
the  nest  being  almost  buried  in  the  herbage  around,  and 
the  watchful  bird  remaining  silently  upon  her  charge, 
observing  with  anxious  eye  the  motions  of  the  intruder 
till  he  retreats  from  her  '  castle,'  or  perhaps  almost  treads 
upon  the  devoted  parent  and  her  house.  When  forced 
reluctantly  to  leave  it,  she  does  so  as  quietly  as  possible, 
and  in  most  if  not  all  cases  this  silent  protective  instinct 
is  crowned  with  success  and  safety.  If  these  birds  were 
not  gifted  with  this  peculiar  instinct,  and  left  their  nests 
in  a  precipitate  manner,  numbers  of  their  eggs  or  young 
would  be  destroyed,  which,  however,  through  its  agency, 
are  brought  up  to  'maturity  under  its  protective 
influences. 

Alluring  motions. — I  consider  this  peculiar  form  of 
protective  instinct  one  of  the  most  beautiful  evidences  of 


12  RURAL  BIRD  LITE. 

an  All-wise  Providence.  Where  is  the  naturalist  who, 
when  he  sees  a  bird  practising  its  varied  motions,  does 
not  admire  the  little  actor,  and  if  possessed  of  any  feeling 
as  beseemeth  a  true  naturalist,  leave  her  victorious,  to 
attend  to  her  domestic  cares  in  peace  ?  Although  all 
these  protective  motions  claim  admiration  from  a 
lover  of  animated  nature,  yet  the  power  now  under 
notice  is  perhaps  most  readily  manifest  to  a  casual 
observer. 

Let  us  stroll  down  this  sandy  shore.     Observe  yon 
little  Sandpiper  which  has  just  started  up  from  our  feet, 
endeavouring  to  make  us  concentrate  all  our  attention 
upon  herself.    Fearlessly  she  reels  and  tumbles  before  us, 
while  her  mate  from  yonder  group  of  rocks  is  encouraging 
her  with  notes  of  condolence.     Why  is  she  so  anxious  ? 
Her  treasured  eggs  are  on  the   sandy  shore,  and  the 
little  sand-bird    is  trying  to  the    utmost  those  powers 
which  an  All-wise  Providence  leads  her  to  manifest  for 
the  safety  of  her  one  and  all-absorbing  care.    Now  we  will 
repair  to  the  barren  waste.    Here  the  Lapwing,  driven  by 
resistless    impulse,  will  flutter  with   seemingly   broken 
wings,  now  tumbling,  now  running,  uttering  her  mournful 
cries,   but  in    all  these    motions    the    watchful   bird    is 
endeavouring  to  lead  us  from  her  home  on  this  dreary 
moor.     Why  is  she  so  anxious  ?     Disregard  the  motions 
of  the  watchful  mother,  and  we  shall  probably  find,  after 
a  scrutinising  search,  her  eggs  on  some  slight  eminence, 
or  her  little  ones  nestling  closely  in  the  friendly  shelter 
of  the  scanty  herbage.     The  young  themselves,  even  at 
this  early  age,  manifest  no  slight  degree  of  instinct  for 
their   self-preservation.     These  alluring  motions  are  not 
confined  to  the  female  alone,  for  her  mate,  in  another 
direction,  is  performing  various  aerial  gyrations,  which 
would  lead  an  inexperienced  person  to  believe  that  the 


PROTECTIVE  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS.  13 

bird    is    circling  over   those  treasures    it  is   seeking  to 
defend  by  so  many  artful  and  varied  antics. 

Pugnacious  motions.-  -These  motions  form  one  of  the 
most  decided  and  marked  of  all  the  divisions.  With 
man,  they  almost  if  not  entirely  fail,  but  against  their 
natural  enemies  this  peculiar  power  is  of  effectual 
service.  As  a  homely  type  of  this  protective  instinct 
we  will  take  the  Missel-thrush.  How  admirably  she 
defends  her  treasure  from  all  predaceous  animals,  flying 
at  them  with  such  fury  as  to  compel  them  to  beat  a 
hasty  retreat  from  the  neighbourhood  of  her  home.  Such 
is  the  impelling  power  of  this  instinct,  that  the  birds, 
with  only  the  safety  of  their  nests  in  view,  will  attack, 
and  come  off  victorious,  even  when  matched  against 
that  little  tyrant  the  Sparrow-hawk.  Notice  yon  Mag- 
pie coming  suspiciously  near  the  nest  of  the  Missel-thrush 
—bent  upon  plunder,  it  is  evident.  How  craftily  he 
approaches  !  Ah !  the  watchful  parent  Missel-thrush 
has  descried  him,  and,  with  a  note  of  defiance  which 
echoes  through  the  silent  woods,  she  chases  the  intruder  : 
her  mate,  too,  on  hearing  her  cries,  appears  upon  the 
scene,  and  aids  in  repelling  the  would-be  robber.  The 
Magpie,  crestfallen  enough  at  the  failure  of  his  designs,  is 
glad  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  and  is  no  doubt  thankful 
if  he  escapes  with  only  the  loss  of  a  few  feathers.  The 
Ring  Ousel  employs  the  same  power  for  the  protection  of 
its  nest,  eggs,  or  young,  and  will  even  dash  fearlessly 
into  the  face  of  a  human  intruder,  uttering  cries  of 
mingled  rage,  defiance,  anxfety,  and  alarm,  should  he 
approach  her  treasured  nest  and  its  priceless  contents. 
Birds  of  prey  also  come  under  this  division,  and  will 
even  attack  man  himself  when  he  approaches  their  nests. 
Instances  are  on  record  where  the  human  aggressor 
came  off  second  best  in  these  encounters.  The  Raven 


14  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

and  others  of  the  Crow  family  find  safety  under  this 
peculiar  instinct,  and  woe  betide  the  predaceous  animal 
that  is  caught  lurking  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their 
abode.  The  Titmice  are  also  included,  and  will,  by 
hissing,  biting,  and  other  pugnacious  actions,  endeavour 
to  repel  the  intruder  from  their  eggs  or  young. 

Deceptive  motions. — The  last  division  on  which  my 
remarks  will  bear  is  of  frequent  occurrence  amongs.t 
the  feathered  tribes.  Prominent  amongst  its  followers  is 
the  Lark.  Note  how  deceptively  she  repairs  to  her  nest, 
by  darting  suddenly  downwards  into  the  herbage  at 
some  distance  from  it,  proceeding  the  remainder  of  the 
way  by  running,  thus  baffling  the  searcher  in  discovering 
her  abode.  What  a  roundabout  way  the  Winchat  repairs 
to  her  nest,  occasionally  darting  downwards  into  the 
thick  grass.  Surely  that  is  the  situation  of  the  nest. 
But  no  !  up  flies  the  little  bird,  and,  perched  on  some 
tall  stem  of  herbage,  looks  warily  around,  and  again 
silently  alights  in  the  friendly  cover.  '  Found  at  last ! ' 
is  our  exclamation,  and  we  rush  hastily  to  the  spot,  but 
are  somewhat  crestfallen  to  find  no  nest  and  even  no 
bird.  How  is  this  ?  Her  protective  instinct  has  been 
at  work.  Influenced  by  its  unerring  power,  she  has 
used  these  deceptive  motions  in  regaining  her  nest, 
which  is  doubtless  many  yards  away  from  the  place  of 
her  final  descent  into  the  friendly  cover.  Then,  again, 
the  Rails  manifest  various  deceptive  motions  in  retiring 
from  and  regaining  their  nests.  Who,  also,  has  not 
observed  wonderful  instances  of  this  protective  power  in 
the  manner  the  Starling  approaches  her  abode  ?  In 
places  where  these  birds  are  left  unmolested  no  such 
power  appears,  but  when  the  birds  are  far  from  the  busy 
hum  of  cities,  how  warily  they  approach,  and  will  not 
betray  their  nesting-hole  even  if  thereby  prevented  from 


PROTECTIVE  INSTINCT  OF  BIRDS.  15 

visiting  their  nest.  Our  eyes  are  ofiien  diverted  from 
the  bird  for  a  few  moments,  and  the  bird,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  this  circumstance,  silently  enters  the  nesting 
cavity.  These  are  a  few  instances  of  this  peculiar  instinct, 
but  a  careful  observer  will  see  in  the  habits  of  these 
feathered  creatures  innumerable  instances  of  this  and  the 
other  forms  of  protective  instinct. 

From  these  remarks  we  may  gain  the  following 
facts  :—  Birds  depositing  their  eggs  on  bare  situations  in- 
variably use  alluring  motions  as  a  protective  power  ;  by 
those  nesting  in  dense  situations,  silence  is  employed , 
predaceous  birds  as  a  rule  employ  pugnacious  motions  ; 
deceptive  motions  are  displayed  by  birds  whose  nests 
are  but  little  concealed  ;  while  birds  of  a  general  habitat 
resort  to  colour  and  mimicry. 

It  must  also  be  remembered  that  birds  only  display 
their  protective  wiles  under  certain  circumstances,  and 
these  circumstances  exist  when  the  birds  see  ample  scope 
for  the  utilising  of  them.  Thus,  if  a  Sandpiper,  rudely 
scared  from  her  eggs,  sees  the  intruder  bending  over 
them,  she  will  not  put  in  force  her  protective  instinct, 
perceiving  at  once  that  the  employment  of  it  is  vain,  and 
she  will  utter  a  note  of  anguish  and  despair,  and  fly  to  a 
short  distance,  to  watch  the  motions  of  the  intruder. 
This  also  clearly  proves  that  no  imitating  power  exists 
within  them,  for  if  this  were  so,  birds  would  always 
employ  these  powers,  and  under  all  circumstances. 
Many  birds  are  also  known  to  possess  several  of  these 
forms  of  instinct,  and  use  them  as  the  emergencies  of 
the  case  require.  Thus  the  Lapwing  or  Snipe  will  ma- 
nifest a  silent  protective  instinct  in  some  cases,  while 
in  others  alluring  motions  will  be  adopted.  Therefore  I 
have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  all  birds  have  doubtless 
been  gifted  with  equal  portions  of  this  peculiar  instinct, 


1 6  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


and  could,  if  circumstances  required  it,  put  in  force  all 
their  varied  arts,  but  have,  through  the  course  of  endless 
time,  adopted  those  motions  best  suited  to  their  wants 
and  conditions  of  life. 

Thus  has  Nature  bountifully  supplied  these  feathered 
creatures  with  instinct  sufficient  to  baffle,  in  most  cases, 
their  natural  enemies — instinct  which  is  so  artfully  put 
in  force  as  to  baffle  even  man  himself,  gifted  as  he  is 
with  noble  reasoning  powers,  which  enable  him  to  be 
the  superior  and  master  of  every  other  living  creature. 


HABITS   OF  BIRDS.  17 


HABI'IS   OF  BIRDS. 

HE  who  pays  attention  to  the  various  motions  of  the 
feathered  tribes,  at  all  seasons,  will  find  that  the  habits 
of  birds  can  be  most  readily  studied  in  early  morning 
and  evening.  For  'tis  then  these  feathered  creatures  are 
the  most  active,  sing  the  loudest  and  in  the  greatest 
numbers,  and  'tis  then  they  are  much,  very  much,  more 
full  of  life  than  at  any  other  time  of  the  day.  Many 
birds,  the  Thrushes  for  instance,  procure  the  -greater 
part  of  their  food  at  these  times  ;  while  others  seldom 
leave  their  fastnesses  except  for  a  few  hours  in  the 
morning  and  evening.  In  the  following  remarks,  penned 
down  at  the  time  of  observation,  I  intend  showing  a  few 
of  the  actions  of  the  feathered  tribes  at  these,  to  the 
ornithologist,  the  most  interesting  times  of  the  day. 

Ye  woodlands  all,  awake  :   a  boundless  song 
Bursts  from  the  groves. 

Gentle  reader,  I  would  request  thee  to  let  imagination 
captivate  thee,  and  bear  me  company,  this  lovely 
morning  in  May,  in  a  stroll  amongst  Nature's  finest 
ornaments,  the  feathered  tribes.  We  must  set  out  long 
before  the  sun  rises  over  yonder  hills  if  we  wish  to  notice 
the  morning  actions  of  the  Robin,  Wren,  Thrushes,  or 
other  early  birds.  Just  as  the  sky  grows  gray  we  hear  the 
Rooks,  the  earliest  moving  birds,  cawing  solemnly  from 
the  tops  of  the  nesting-trees ;  a  little  later  a  Robin  is 

C 


i8  RURAL   1URD  LIFE. 


heard  uttering  a  few  sharp  call  notes  ;  the  little  Wren  too 
is  now  on  the  move.  A  word  in  respect  to  the  awaken- 
ing of  birds.  We  are  gravely  told  that  those  birds 
roosting  in  high  situations  rise  the  first,  because  the  sun 
is  seen  sooner  from  their  elevated  roosting-place.  But  this 
is  incorrect,  for  the  Robin,  Wren,  and  Thrush,  roosting 
in  a  lowly  shrub,  rise  just  as  soon  from  their  slumbers  as 
the  Rook,  perched  some  fifty  feet  above  them  in  the 
towering  elm,  and  long  before  the  sun  is  visible  from  the 
highest  tree  in  the  vicinity.  Another,  I  believe  a  French 
naturalist,  tells  us  that  the  Lark  is  a  sluggard.  Let  him 
come  hither  and  behold  this  charming  little  songstei 
rise  from  its  lowly  bed  with  the  first  glimmer  'of  sunrise 
in  the  eastern  sky.  Methinks  our  forefathers  of  old,  01 
even  the  village  swain  of  the  present  day,  could  have 
.given  this  grave  scientist  a  lesson  in  this  simple  matter. 
After  close  attention  to  this  special  habit  in  the 
feathered  tribe,  I  am  able  to  inform  thee,  gentle  reader, 
that  birds  awake  with  but  little  approach  to  regularity, 
and  probably  thy  first  ramble  will  be  quite  at  variance 
with  thy  second,  although  they  be  taken  but  a  few  days 
apart.  The  Carrion  Cro\v  and  Rook  are  probably  the 
first  birds  astir :  Thrushes  follow  them  closely.  The 
Cuckoo,  too,  is  a  very  early  riser  ;  so  are  the  Lark  and 
sylvan  birds  ;  while  Finches  as  a  rule  rise  late  in  com- 
parison to  their  above-mentioned  congeners.  However, 
as  soon  as  the  first  bird  is  heard  to  move,  the  other 
members  of  the  feathered  race  are  heard  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, and  I  am  often  in  my  rambles,  especially  in 
the  vernal  year,  greatly  puzzled  as  to  which  of  my  little 
favourites  was  the  first  to  greet  me  with  its  notes.  But 
to  return  to  our  ramble. 

A  warm  glimmer  appears   in  the   sky,  'tis  the  har- 
binger of  the  glorious  sun,   and  the   Song-thrush   and 


HABITS  OF  TilRDS.  19 


Blackbird  leave  the  dense  shelter  of  the  evergreen  and 
mount  the  tallest  branches,  to  greet  the  rising  orb  with 
.1  flood  of  gushing  music.  The  Robin  and  Wren  have 
now  commenced  their  lay ;  the  former  from  yonder 
thorn,  and  the  latter  from  the  concealment  of  the  dense 
and  lowly  bramble.  The  Cuckoo  utters  his  name  from 
the  blasted  top  of  a  majestic  oak,  for  an  early  riser  is 
this  bird  of  spring.  As  we  stroll  over  this  field  of  clover 
the  Lark  springs  up  from  its  dewy  bed,  and,  shaking  the 
moisture  from  its  plumage,  soars  on  quivering  wing  into 
the  azure  vault  of  heaven,  now  glowing  as  if  with  gold 
from  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  Cheerily  he  sings  on 
ever-moving  pinions  ;  upwards  he  soars  until  he  appears 
but  a  speck,  yet  his  melody  is  heard,  beautiful  in  its 
faintness,  e'en  though  the  bird  be  lost  in  the  morning 
mist  as  it  rises  and  creeps  slowly  along  the  valleyT~  The 
welcome  twittering  of  the  Swallows  is  now  heard,  and 
these  charming  little  creatures  flit  by  us,  their  plumage 
glowing  with  pristine  gloss  in  the  morning  sunlight. 
Their  morning  meal  they  are  seeking,  and  a  bountiful 
one  they  find  over  yonder  calm  and  lucid  pool. 

Arguta  lacus'circumvolitavit  hirundo. 

Gay  little  Chaffinches  greet  us  as  we  approach  the 
hedgerows,  and  the  Bunting  from  his  perch  on  yonder 
fence  utters  his  enlivening  though  somewhat  monotonous 
notes.  On  the  decayed  branch  of  this  ash  sits  the 
sprightly  Tree  Pipit :  ever  and  anon  he  launches  himself 
into  the  air  for  a  short  distance,  singing  as  he  goes, 
and  then  with  his  twee,  twee,  twee,  twee,  returns  to  his 
elevated  perch.  The  plaintive  notes  of  the  Willow- 
Warbler,  the  dulcet  symphonies  of  the  Blackcap,  and  the 
garrulous  warblings  of  the  little  Whitethroat  are  heard 
in  all  directions.  The  Flycatcher  is  seeking  his  morning 


20  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

meal,  and,  judging  from  the  clouds  of  insects  hovering 
near  him,  his  wants  will  speedily  be  supplied.  As  we 
stroll  down  this  narrow  lane  the  Redstart  flits  before  us 
from  bush  to  bush,  uttering  his  wrenlike  song,  while  the 
Wagtail  greets  us  with  his  call  notes  as  we  cross  the 
murmuring  rivulet.  We  now  enter  a  coppice,  and  the 
Stormcock  flies  round  us  with  grating  cries  :  her  home 
is  here,  and  she  is  seeking  to  defend  it.  Now  in  our  re- 
turn journey  we  see  a  pair  of  Magpies,  and  hear  the  dis- 
cordant call  of  the  Jay  ;  while  in  yonder  grass  field  near 
the  shrubbery  numbers  of  Thrushes  are  seen  searching 
for  worms  and  slugs.  Observe  them  closely,  and  we  find 
the  Blackbird  elevates  the  tail  upon  alighting,  while  the 
Song-thrush  is  never  seen  to  do  so.  All  look  warily 
around  before  feeding,  and  upon  the  slightest  alarm  fly 
rapidly  off  into  the  shelter  of  the  evergreens.  The 
Rooks  are  now  feeding,  and  obtaining  food  for  their  sit- 
ting mates  or  helpless  young,  in  the  pastures.  Starlings 
in  their  company  are  keeping  up  a  noisy  concert,  many 
of  the  males  on  the  surrounding  tree-tops  warbling  their 
varied  notes,  with  shaking  quivering  wings.  The  sun  is 
now  well  up  in  the  heavens,  and  all  birds  are  singing 
their  loudest.  First  come  the  noble  family  of  Thrushes, 
represented  by  the  dulcet  Blackbird  and  varied  Thrush  ; 
the  delicate  sylvan  songsters  give  forth  their  plaintive 
notes  ;  while  the  Finches  in  all  directions  help  to  swell 
the  lovely  concert — a  concert  in  which,  without  close 
attention,  the  songs  of  the  many  actors  cannot  be  traced.  • 
Amongst  such  a  sea  of  melody  we  are  apt  to  ponder 
over  the  cause  of  it  ;  but  it  defies  our  every  effort,  and 
we  are  obliged  to  rest  content  with  listening  to  it  and 
enjoying  its  sweetness.  The  Corncrake  is  calling  from 
the  meadow,  and  the  late -rising  Sparrows  cluster  round 
the  barns  and  ricks  to  seek  their  morning  sustenance. 


HA  HITS   OF  BIRDS.  21 


On  the  bosom  of  the  still  waters  the  Moorhens  and  Coots 
plash  about  right  heartily,  and  the  Heron  on  one  leg 
appears  in  silent  moody  contemplation.  As  the  sun 
advances  the  birds  cease  their  music  and  retire,  and  such 
a  delightful  concert  of  bird  music  will  not  again  be  heard 
until  the  sun  has  performed  his  daily  tour  through  the 
flaming  zodiac,-  and  arises  once  more  in  the  eastern 
heavens  to  usher  in  a  future  day.  In  the  evening,  how- 
ever, the  actions  of  the  feathered  tribes  are  ever  full  of 
interest. 

The  waning  sun  behoves  us  to  set  forth.  The  objects 
of  our  quest  betray  their  whereabouts  by  their  music, 
and  although  .these  little  songsters  have  been  heard  in 
small  numbers  throughout  the  day,  still  all  now  sing 
1  their  lovely  evening  notes.  This  noble  shrubbery  pre- 
sents us  with  a  great  number  of  the  little  sons  of  Orpheus. 
The  Thrushes,  from  their  powerful  notes,  come  first  be- 
fore our  notice.  In  yonder  stately  sycamore,  just  don- 
ning its  golden  leaves,  the  Blackbird  is  pouring  forth  his 
notes  ;  another  on  a  lowly  wall  is  assisting  in  the  con- 
cert. Song-thrushes  from  every  tree  are  giving  forth 
their  varied  tones.  As  we  pause  for  a  few  moments 
under  this  widespreading  yew,  Cock-Robin  hops  daintily 
on  to  a  neighbouring  bough  and  greets  us  with  a  song  ; . 
while  down  below  him  in  the  tangled  ravine  the  Wren 
gives  forth  his  rambling  notes.  Our  little  friends  the 
Chaffinches,  with  their  congener  the  Greenfinch,  are 
heard  singing  their  loudest ;  and  the  graceful  Willow 
Warbler  in  his  journey  over  the  forest  trees  in  search  of 
insect  food  occasionally  pauses  to  utter  his  plaintive 
song.  The  active  little  blue  Titmice  in  every  conceiv- 
able attitude  are  searching  for  their  evening  meal  ; 
while  in  the  distance  the  bell-like  notes  of  the  Ox-eye 
are  heard  ringing  on  the  evening  air.  In  the  grass  fields 


22  RURAL  BIRD   LIFE. 


we  find  numerous  Thrushes  searching  for  food  :  the 
greater  part  of  these  birds  have  not  been  out  of  their 
haunts  since  we  saw  them  retire  in  the  morning.  A 
flock  of  Starlings,  too,  is  busily  employed  feeding.  If  we 
disturb  them,  they  all  rise  together  and  make  for  the  top- 
most branches  of  the  neighbouring  trees,  and  there  com- 
mence a  noisy  clamour,  the  male  birds  giving  forth  their 
delightful  warbling  notes.  The  Rooks  are  seen  flying 
backwards  and  fonvards  from  the  distant  feeding  ground 
to  the  rookery  with  food  for  their  mates  or  young  :  they 
continue  these  operations  till  dusk.  Far  off  in  the  dis- 
tant meadow  we  hear  the  Landrail,  who  but  seldom 
calls  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  There,  too,  we  hear  the 
Skylark  singing  his  evening  melody  previous  to  alight- 
ing in  the  grassy  sward  for  the  night ;  while  deep  in  the 
recesses  of  the  wood  we  hear  the  harsh  cries  of  the  Jay 
and  Magpie,  the  discordant  crow  of  the  male  Pheasant,  as 
he  marshals  his  harem  around  him,  and  the  soft  cooing 
of  the  Ringdove  ;  for  be  it  known  all  these  birds  are 
very  vociferous  at  night's  gloomy  approach. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  feature  in  the  nightly 
motions  of  the  feathered  tribe  is  their  retiring  to  roost. 
Amongst  the  earliest  retiring  birds  are  the  Chaffinch  and 
Greenfinch,  for  just  as  the  sun  disappears  these  birds 
seek  the  shelter  of  the  yew  or  holly  as  a  roosting-place. 
The  Willow  Warbler  sings  well  into  the  twilight,  as  also 
do  the  Thrushes,  Wrens,  and  Robins :  the  latter  bird,  by 
the  way,  we  shall  hear  long  after  twilight  has  merged  into 
night.  All  birds,  or  nearly  all,  just  prior  to  roosting, 
become  very  vociferous.  We  hear  the  startling  call  of 
the  Blackbird  ;  there  the  Starlings  in  noisy  concert  are 
settling  over  their  roosting-place  ;  yonder  the  Titmouse 
is  flitting  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  a  safe  retreat. 
Down  the  hedgerows  the  Sparrow-hawk  is  coursing  in 


HABITS   OF  BIRDS.  23 

search  of  some  unlucky  Pinch  thiit  has  lingered  after  his 
companions  have  sought  repose.  The  female  Rooks  are 
upon  their  nests,  their  partners  perched  close  at  hand, 
the  birds  occasionally  uttering  a  hoarse  caw,  or  the  young 
birds  their  more  feeble  notes.  The  night  mist  hangs 
low  in  the  valley,  and  the  Bat  leaves  his  gloomy  retreat 
and  courses  through  the  air  in  search  of  his  meal.  The 
wailing  call  of  the  Lapwing  from  the  pasture,  or  the 
screech  of  the  Owl  is  heard,  proclaiming  that  the  night 
birds  are  about  to  usher  forth  ;  yet  still  the  Robin  and  a 
solitary  Thrush  are  heard  to  sing  a  few  last  notes.  The 
gloom  is  fast  hastening  into  night,  and  ere  long  a 
solemn  stillness  reigns,  only  broken  by  the  cries,  start- 
ling and  strange,  of  the  birds  or  beasts  of  night. 

....  the  restless  day 

Expiring,  lays  the  warbling  world  asleep. 

All  diurnal  birds  have  retired  to  rest — a  rest  how- 
ever but  of  a  few  short  hours'  duration,  for  ere  long  bird 
life  with  its  ups  and  downs,  cares  and  anxieties,  will  be 
once  again  in  full  vigour. 

The  above  remarks  apply  to  an  inland  pastoral  dis- 
trict, and  he  who  roams  in  the  haunts  of  the  feathered 
tribes  in  the  morning  and  evening  hours,  be  his  rambles 
on  the  sea  coast,  lonely  moor,  forest,  swamp,  or  plain, 
will  not  fail  to  find  his  stroll  abounding  with  the  interest- 
ing habits,  many  probably  unknown  before,  of  these 
feathered  creatures.  My  aim  in  giving  thee,  gentle 
reader,  this  brief  and  hasty  sketch  of  bird  life,  is  in  the 
hope  that  if  thou  hast  not  yet  visited  the  haunts  of  birds 
at  these  times  thou  wilt  be  led  to  do  so ;  for  no  matter 
under  what  circumstances  thou  art  placed,  thou  wilt  not 
fail  to  find  abundant  sources  of  pleasure  and  profit  by  so 
doing. 


THE  SONG-THRUSH. 

IN  the  shrubberies,  the  woods,  and,  in  summer,  the 
fields  and  the  hedgerows,  in  fact,  wherever  we  find  the 
Blackbird,  we  may  pretty  well  rest  assured  of  finding 
the  Song- thrush  too.  The  haunt  of  the  Song-thrush, 
par  excellence,  however,  is  amongst  the  bright  and  glossy 
foliage  of  the  evergreens.  There  they  delight  to  hide, 
although  not  so  shy  and  retiring  as  the  Blackbird  ;  there 
they  build  their  nests  in  greatest  numbers,  amongst  the 
perennial  foliage,  and  there  they  draw  at  nightfall  to 
repose  in  warmth  and  safety. 

Like  the  Blackbird,  the  Song-thrush  is  not  a  gre- 
garious species,  nor  can  it  be  justly  called  a  social  one, 
for  it  is  rarely  we  see  more  than  a  pair  together  save  at 
feeding  time.  Then,  however,  they  are  drawn  together 
by  one  common  object,  and  once  that  object  attained 
they  retire  to  their  life  of  solitude  again.  You  can  best 
observe  the  actions  of  the  Song-thrush  at  feeding  time, 


THE  SONG-THRUSH.  25 

which  takes  place,  as  a  rule,  in  the  morning  and  evening 
hours.     Your  wish  will  the  better  be  gratified  if  a  light 
shower  of  rain  has  previously  fallen.     You  see  the  Song- 
thrushes  leave  their  haunts  oiu  by  one,  and,  alighting  on 
the  grass,  look  warily  around  for  a  moment,  but  do  not 
elevate  the  tail,  like  the  Blackbird,  before  commencing 
their  search  for  food.     Hopping  hither  and  thither,  they 
pick    up    the    worms,    slugs,    and     grubs,   or    seize    a 
passing  insect  ;  when  satisfied,  returning  into  their  leafy 
haunt  solitary  as  they  came.     Berries  also  are  eaten  in 
considerable  numbers,  both  in  the   autumn    and  early 
spring  months  of  the  year.     Wild  fruits,  as  blackberries 
and  raspberries,  are  eaten,  and  the  fruit  gardens  near 
their  haunts  are  often  visited.     The  Song-thrush  is  also 
a  large  feeder  on  those  snails  whose  pretty  shells  occur 
in    almost    every  hedgerow.     Capturing  the  snail,   the 
Thrush  conveys  it,  shell   and    all,  to   some   convenient 
stone,  where  he  dexterously  breaks  open  the  shell  by 
dashing  it  against  it,  and  feeds  upon  the  animal  within. 
I   have  often  seen  the  remnants  of  a  score  or  more  of 
these  shells  strewed  round   some    large   stone,  silently 
speaking  of  the  Thrush's  .usefulness.     The  Song-thrush 
also  obtains   much   of  its   food    amongst    the   withered 
leaves  and  marshy  places  of  the  woods  and  shrubberies 
which   it    frequents.     In  the    autumn    months   we   find 
the  Song-thrush  in  abundance  on  the  cabbage  beds  near 
its  haunts,  feeding   upon    the   snails   and    slugs   which 
frequent  that  vegetable.     In   the   moulting  season  this 
bird  is  still  more  retiring  in  its  disposition,  as  if  fully 
aware  of  its  helplessness  while   undergoing    its  annual 
change  of  plumage. 

The  Song-thrush  sings  very  early  in  the  year,  his 
rich  and  varied  notes  being  heard  early  in  February, 
from  which  time  he  warbles  incessantly  up  to  the 


26  RURAL    BIRD  LITE. 


moulting  season  in  July,  at  which  time,  by  the  way,  the 
young  of  the  year  are  heard  making  attempts  at  song. 
We  have  not  a  bird  in  Britain  possessing  a  more  varied 
melody  than  the  Song-thrush.  His  notes  may  be  said 
to  be  almost  endless  in  variety,  each  note  seemingly 
uttered  at  the  caprice  of  the  bird,  without  any  percep- 
tible approach  to  order.  I  have  often,  when  listening  to 
his  charming  song,  noted  down  as  many  of  these  varia- 
tions as  I  could  detect,  and  the  result  has  surprised  me. 
I  on  one  occasion  recorded  the  variations  as  the  bird  was 
warbling  from  the  summit  of  a  stately  ash,  and  obtained 
ten  variations  in  one  of  the  snatches  of  his  song.  The 
Song-thrush  warbles  throughout  the  day,  but  morning 
and  evening  are  the  times  he  sings  in  largest  numbers. 
I  have  known  one  of  these  birds  sing  incessantly  in  all 
his  varied  splendour  for  five  hours  in  the  morning^ 
without  once  quitting  his  perching-place.  It  is  a  plea- 
sure indescribable  to  listen  to  the  vernal  song  of  the 
Thrush.  In  the  early  morning,  when  the  first  streak  of 
dawn  appears  glimmering  over  the  eastern  horizon,  and 
surrounding  objects  are  beginning  to  assume  a  more 
decided  outline  against  the  gray  morning  sky,  we  first 
hear  a  few  notes,  as  if  the  bird,  like  a  skilful  musician 
previous  to  his  performance,  were  tuning  his  lyre. 
Gradually  it  swells  into  a  lovely  song,  and  is  carried  for 
half  a  mile  or  more  along  the  valley  by  the  gentle 
zephyrs  of  early  morn.  Shortly  we  hear  another 
from  a  neighbouring  tree ;  another  and  another  are 
heard  in  rapid  succession,  as  the  day  spreads,  widely 
around  ;  and  finally  the  air  seems  laden  with  their  joyous 
notes,  now  intermingled  with  the  charming  song  of  the 
Robin  and  Wren,  and  the  rich  and  flutelike  tones  of  the 
Blackbird.  There  is  no  monotony  in  the  notes  of  the 
Song-thrush,  they  are  for  ever  on  the  change  ;  and  when 


THE  SONG-THRUSH.  27 


we  hear  a  dozen  or  more  in  one  small  shrubbery,  singing 
their  best,  the  effect  is  lovely  in  the  extreme,  and  totally 
beyond  the  art  of  the  most  graphic  pen  to  describe.  In 
the  evening,  too,  they  just  as  numerous,  and  sing  equally 
as  well  ;  every  tree-top  has  its  Thrush,  pouring  forth  a 
requiem  to  the  parting  day,  and  the  still  evening  air 
resounds  with  their  melody.  We  also  often  hear  them 
singing  their  loudest  under  a  star-spangled  sky,  or 
greeting  the  rising  moon  with  notes  of  gushing  sweetness. 
The  Song-thrush  pairs  in  the  latter  end  of  February, 
sometimes  earlier,  although  the  nest  is  seldom  found 
before  the  first  or  second  week  in  March.  Even  then 
numbers  of  the  nests  finished,  or  in  course  of  completion, 
are  abandoned  if  severe  weather  occurs.  The  site  of  the 
Song-thrush's  nest  is  a  varied  one.  We  invariably  find 
the  first  nests  of  this  bird  amongst  the  perennial 
branches  of  the  evergreen  ;  but  as  the  year  rolls  on,  and 
other  trees  and  shrubs  assume  their  leafy  covering,  they 
in  turn  are  used.  The  whitethorn  hedge  is  a  favourite 
place  ;  so  too  is  the  bottom  of  the  hazel  hedgerows  ;  while 
we  not  unfrequently  see  it  far  up  the  branches  of  the 
stately  trees,  and  amongst  the  ivy  growing  up  their  trunks. 
The  nest  of  the  Song-thrush  generally  takes  upwards  of 
a  week  to  complete,  yet  when  hard  pressed  it  can  be 
done  in  a  much  shorter  time ;  witness  the  following 
instance,  among  several,  coming  under  my  own  obser- 
vation. I  found  a  nest  of  the  Song-thrush  in  a  small 
yew  bush,  and  in  a  very  exposed  situation,  which  I 
removed.  Three  days  afterwards  I  again  visited  the 
place,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  birds  had 
almost  completed  a  fresh  nest.  I  removed  this  also,  and 
visited  the  place  the  following  day,  when  I  was  still 
further  surprised  to  find  that  the  little  songsters  had 
almost  completed  a  third  nest,  so  attached  were  the 


28  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

little  architects  to  their  somewhat  ill-chosen  site.  This 
structure,  however,  was  removed  like  the  former  ones, 
and  on  the  evening  of  the  following  day  a  fourth  nest 
was  there,  and  the  bird  upon  it,  putting  the  finishing 
touches,  and  an  egg  was  laid  the  following  day,  for  I 
could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  remove  this,  their  fourth 
piece  of  handiwork.  I  may  add  that  all  the  nests  were 
excellently  made. 

Many  erroneous  opinions  are  held  as  to  the  materials 
with  which  this  bird  lines  its  nest.  Some  affirm  that 
cow-dung  is  the  material  used  ;  others,  that  clay  and 
mud  form  the  lining.  Let  us  closely  watch  a  Song- 
thrush  when  building  her  nest :  we  will  suppose  the  site 
is  already  chosen.  In  the  first  place  a  nest  of  dry 
grass,  straw,  and  a  little  moss,  is  made  as  the  foundation 
for  future  operations  ;  and  then  with  wet  mud  or  clay 
she  proceeds  to  line  her  handiwork.  But  this  is  not  all. 
When  this  first  lining  is  still  in  a  soft  state,  the  bird  repairs 
to  some  decayed  wood  in  the  vicinity — old  fences,  roots  of 
trees,  or  dead  branches,  answer  the  purpose,  it  matters 
not  which — and  after  obtaining  a  small  quantity,  returns 
to  the  nest  and  commences  a  second  lining.  How  does 
she  moisten  the  wood  for  her  purpose  ?  Not  with  her 
saliva  ;  for  with  admirable  instinct  she  seeks  wood 
already  saturated  with  moisture,  or,  provided  none  can 
be  found  in  that  condition,  which  very  rarely  occurs,  she 
moistens  it  in  the  nearest  water.  The  selected  pieces  of 
wood  speedily  become  tunnelled  by  the  repeated  visits 
of  the  bird,  and  in  fact  by  all  the  other  Song-thrushes  in 
the  vicinity  who  are  about  to  set  up  housekeeping.  A 
stroll  in  the  nesting  season  through  the  localities 
favoured  by  the  presence  of  these  charming  songsters 
will  reveal  quantities  of  decayed  logs  bearing  the  marks 
of  their  repeated  visits.  But  to  return.  The  bird  speedily 


THE  SONG-THRUSH.  29 

lines  her  nest  a  second  time,  making  it  smooth  and 
rounded  as  any  specimen  of  the  potter's  art,  and  then 
leaves  it  for  probably  a  day  or  so  to  dry,  ere  the  eggs 
are  deposited.  The  eggs  of  the  Song  thrush  are  very 
beautiful  objects.  They  are  deep  greenish-blue  (by  the 
way,  a  difficult  colour  to  describe),  spotted  with  small 
deep  brown  spots,  and  four  or  five  in  number.  You 
sometimes  find  eggs  of  the  Song-thrush  richly  blotched 
with  reddish-brown  and  light  purple  ;  others  are  pure 
and  spotless.  The  eggs  of  the  Song-thrush  are  also 
subject  to  no  small  degree  of  variation  in  size,  the  largest 
and  finest  eggs  being  laid  by  the  more  matured  birds. 
Silence  is  the  protective  power,  as  a  rule,  employed  by 
the  Song-thrush,  although  pugnacious  motions  are  some- 
times, though  rarely,  employed.  The  notes  of  the  sitting 
bird,  when  scared  from  the  nest,  are  almost  as  harsh  as 
those  of  the  Stormcock.  Both  birds  sit  upon  the  eggs 
and  young,  and  tend  their  young  for  a  short  time  after 
they  quit  the  nest  for  ever.  All  birds,  I  am  convinced, 
understand  the  notes  of  their  congeners  when  in  distress 
or  menaced  by  danger.  Notice  how,  when  you  have 
unwittingly  disturbed  a  brood  of  young  Song-thrushes, 
for  instance,  the  harsh  and  distressful  cries  of  the  parent 
birds  draw  other  birds  to  the  vicinity  of  the  tumult, 
undoubtedly  drawn  thither  by  feelings  of  sympathy,  or 
for  the  purpose  of  uniting  to  repel  the  advances  of  the 
oppressor  The  Song-thrush  rears  two  broods  in  the 
year  at  least. 

Here  the  Song-thrush  is  a  decidedly  migratory  bird. 
They  leave  us,  with  one  or  two  solitary  exceptions,  by 
the  early  part  of  November's  foggy  month.  Their 
numbers  decrease  about  the  Redwing's  arrival,  and  go  on 
doing  so  until  the  middle  of  November,  with  the  above 
result.  In  the  shrubberies  where  they  formerly  abounded 


36  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

now  (November)  but  one  or  two  are  seen,  and  the  hedge- 
rows are  entirely  deserted,  and  their  harsh  grating  call 
notes  no  longer  disturb  the  air  at  eventide.  Where  the 
birds  retire  to,  is  to  me  a  mystery  ;  but  by  the  latter 
end  of  January  or  first  week  in  February,  when  the  first 
signs  of  approaching  spring  abound  on  every  side,  the 
Song-thrushes  are  back  again  in  their  old  haunts.  I  am 
of  opinion  they  migrate,  like  the  Redwing,  during  the 
night,  for  one  day  they  are  absent,  and  the  next  their 
mellow  notes  fill  the  air  around  with  gladness.  I  have 
now  for  several  years  been  struck  with  this  peculiar  habit 
of  the  Song-thrush,  and  the  Blackbird  too,  and  paid 
particular  attention  to  the  same,  but  I  am,  as  yet,  totally 
unable  to  say  what  causes  these  movements. 


THE  MISSEL-THRUSH.  31 


THE   MISSEL-INRUSH. 

THIS  noble  frequenter  of  our  woods  and  fields  is  known 
by  many  as  the  '  Stormcock,'  a  name  acquired  by 
the  bird  warbling  his  lay  in  the  wildest  months  of  the 
year.  How  diversified  and  everchanging  are  the  habits 
and  motions  of  the  feathered  tribe !  and  most  particu- 
larly their  song.  Some  birds,  as  the  Robin,  Wren,  and 
Dun  nock,  sing  all  the  year  through  ;  while  others,  as  the 
Chaffinch  and  Bunting,  sing  but  for  a  short  six  months 
every  season  ;  while  again  the  Song-thrush  and  Lark  will 
warble  a  few  strains  at  intervals  on  some  calm  and 
genial  winter's  day,  in  addition  to  their  spring  and 
summer  melody  ;  while  yet  again  the  Missel-thrush,  by 
Nature's  mandates  commanded,  sings  throughout  the 
winter,  drops  his  lay  in  April,  but  regains  it  in  all  its 
power  in  early  autumn,  to  continue  till  the  sun  has  com- 
menced his  journey  to  the  northern  tropic.  Thus  we 
find  that  the  Missel-thrush  is  invariably  silent  at  a  time 
when  all  his  congeners  are  filling  the  grove  with  their 
melody.  His  song  resembles  in  some  of  its  tones  that 
of  the  Song-thrush  and  Blackbird,  but  it  possesses  a 
peculiar  loudness,  and  wild  variation  strictly  its  own, 
and  may,  by  one  who  pays  attention  to  the  songs  of 
birds,  be  instantly  recognised  from  the  notes  of  any 
other  British  songster.  Like  the  notes  of  the  Ring  Ousel,  it 
is  somewhat  monotonous.  I  have  heard  this  bird  pouring 
out  his  wild  notes  before  actual  daylight,  in  the  middle 


32  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


of  the  short  winter's  day,  and  when  the  sun  has  been 
sinking  behind  the  western  hills  in  tints  of  the  finest 
lustre.  How  pleasantly  his  notes  greet  the  ear  amid  the 
shrieking  of  the  wind  and  the  driving  snow,  or  when  in 
a  calm  and  lucid  interval  of  genial  weather  we  hear  him 
sing,  if  possible,  more  richly  than  before.  His  song  re- 
minds us  of  a  coming  season  when  the  now  dreary  land- 
scape will  be  clothed  in  a  blooming  garb  befitting  the 
vernal  year— of  the  song  of  the  Blackbird  and  Thrush 
combined  with  that  of  the  Lark,  and  other  host  of  tune- 
ful throats  which  usher  in  that  lovely  season.  Should 
you  disturb  the  Missel-thrush  when  singing  he  usually 
drops  silently  down  and  awaits  your  departure,  though 
sometimes  he  merely  retires  to  a  neighbouring  tree  and 
warbles  as  sweetly  as  before.  You  will  also  find  that 
you  can  approach  him  much  closer  when  he  is  singing 
than  at  any  other  time,  save  in  the  breeding  season,  a 
fact,  by  the  way,  found  in  all  or  nearly  all  singing  birds. 
The  call  notes,  or  alarm  notes,  of  the  Missel-thrush  arc 
extremely  harsh  and  discordant.  You  may  form  a  pretty 
correct  idea  of  them  in  the  same  manner  as  you  would 
imitate  the  Landrail's  call. 

The  Missel-thrush,  as  a  rule,  flies  much  higher 
through  the  heavens  than  the  Thrush  or  Blackbird. 
They  are  also  capable  of  flying  with  great  rapidity,  and 
also  have  considerable  command  over  themselves  in  the 
air :  witness  their  motions  round  the  head  of  an  intruder 
when  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their  nest.  The  Missel- 
thrush  is  a  decided  inhabitant  of  trees  and  shrubs,  save 
when  in  search  of  food,  which  for  eight  months  in  the 
year  is  found  chiefly  on  the  ground,  except  in  fruit  time. 
The  remaining  four  months  he  is  for  the  most  part  a  berry 
feeder,  though,  if  the  weather  be  mild  and  open,  we  find 
him  on  the  grass  land  in  company  with  his  congeners. 


THE   MISSEL-THRUSH.  33 


You  will  also  find  in  studying  the  economy  of  the  Missel- 
thrush  that  he  is  never  seen  to  skulk  and  hide  under 
the  evergreens  and  lowly  shrubs,  but  is  generally  found 
amongst  the  higher  branches,  shy  and  vigilant  at  all 
times,  and  taking  wing  the  instant  he  is  alarmed. 

From  what  I  have  observed,  the  Missel-thrush  pairs 
somewhere  about  the  first  week  in  February,  and  at  that 
season  the  birds  are  very  pugnacious.  I  was  once  a 
witness  to  one  of  these  combats  between  two  males  :  a 
female  was  in  their  company.  After  much  discordant 
language,  harsh  blows,  and  not  a  few  warlike  motions, 
one  of  the  birds  was  evidently  vanquished,  and  retired 
to  a  tree  close  at  hand.  The  now  victorious  male  went 
off  in  another  direction,  in  company  with  the  female,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  a  union  was  formed  between  them. 
These  birds  frequent  the  locality  of  their  nest  weeks 
before  a  twig  is  laid  in  furtherance  of  it.  Every  day  the 
observer  may  hear  their  harsh  cries  and  the  lovely  notes 
of  the  male  in  one  locality,  and  he  may  rest  assured,  if 
he  does  not  molest  them,  that  there  their  nest  will  be. 
Another  noteworthy  habit  of  this  bird,  in  common  with 
many  other  species,  is  its  singularly  trustful  disposition 
in  the  breeding  season  ;  yet  at  all  other  times  of  the 
year  he  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  birds  to  approach, 
and  shuns,  except  in  fruit  time  and  the  keenest  weather, 
man's  habitation  with  scrupulous  care. 

Missel-thrushes  commence  building  early  in  March, 
and  their  eggs  often  suffer  from  the  inclement  weather 
which  not  unfrequently  occurs  at  that  season.  I  have 
found  many  nests  of  this  bird  forsaken,  though  the  full 
complement  of  eggs  was  deposited,  the  nests  being  filled 
with  snow,  and  the  eggs  frozen  hard  as  stones.  Almost 
every  forest  tree  is  destined  to  contain  the  nest  of  the 
Missel-thrush.  We  find  it  in  the  yew  shrubs,  a  few  feet 

U 


34  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

from  the  ground  ;  in  the  lowly  hawthorn  ;  the  alder 
bordering  the  stream  ;  sometimes  in  the  ash,  sixty  feet 
above  the  ground  ;  more  rarely  in  the  beech  ;  while  very 
often  the  towering  oak  and  silver  birch  are  selected.  We 
also  find  it  in  every  species  of  fruit  tree  ;  and  what  I 
have  noticed  as  very  singular  is,  that  though  the  nest  is 
often  very  conspicuous,  it  is  often  overlooked  until  the 
eggs  are  hatched,  or  the  young  have  left  their  birthplace 
for  ever.  Missel-thrushes  will  sometimes  build  their  nests 
very  close  together  ;  I  on  one  occasion  counted  four  of 
their  nests  a  few  yards  apart  in  the  secluded  corner  of  a 
swampy  wood.  The  nest  is  placed  in  some  convenient 
fork,  often  built  on  a  branch  growing  at  right  angles  to 
the  trunk,  and  but  very  rarely  constructed  amongst  the 
more  slender  twigs.  I  on  one  occasion  found  a  nest 
belonging  to  this  species  in  a  large  yew  shrub  :  the  nest 
was  placed  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  slender  branches, 
five  feet  from  the  ground,  and  was  -but  very  slightly 
secured  :  it  contained  four  eggs.  In  my  opinion  the 
nest  of  this  bird  is  but  very  rarely  found  in  these 
situations.  It  is  composed  of  a  few  twigs,  coarse  grass, 
sometimes  growing  chickweed,  mixed  with  large  masses 
of  wool,  cemented  wfith  mud,  and  lined  with  a  very 
thick  lining  of  the  finest  grass.  Some  nests  are  com- 
posed externally  of  a  species  of  moss  which  grows  in 
swamps,  and  when  dry  is  a  greenish- white  colour.  This 
when  skilfully  woven  with  the  slender  twigs  of  the 
birch,  and  placed  in  that  lovely  sylvan  tree,  forms  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  specimens  of  bird  architecture.  I 
have  known  this  bird  use  ivy  leaves  for  the  outside  of 
its  nest,  which  was  placed  in  a  hawthorn  tree  just 
bursting  into  leaf.  Of  all  the  birds  which  have  come 
before  rny  notice,  perhaps  none  deposit  more  regularly 
the  same  number  of  eggs.  I  have  examined  scores  of 


THE   MISSEL-THRUSH.  35 


the  nests  of  this  bird,  and  found  the  eggs  in  all  stages  of 
development,  yet  not  in  one  single  solitary  instance  have 
I  found  the  eggs  of  this  bird  to  exceed  four  in  number  : 
the  eggs  of  the  Missel -thrush,  therefore,  I  should 
say  but  rarely  exceed  this  number.  They  vary  con- 
siderably in  shape,  size,  and  markings  ;  some  specimens 
are  pear-shaped,  others  almost  round,  and  great  dis 
parity  of  size  may  be  often  noted  in  the  eggs  of  the 
same  nest.  Some  eggs  are  bluish-green  in  ground 
colour,  with  a  zone  of  purple  and  reddish-brown  spots  ; 
others  have  a  much  deeper  ground  colour,  mottled  all 
over  with  light  and  dark  brown  and  purple  blotches  ;  in 
others  the  colouring  matter  is  collected  on  the  larger 
end.  I  have  found  eggs  of  this  bird  not  sat  upon  in 
June,  and  known  the  young  able  to  fly  by  the  latter  end 
of  April :  from  this  I  would  infer  that  two  broods  are 
reared  in  the  year.  You  can  seldom  examine  the  nest 
of  the  Missel-thrush  in  quietness,  save  when  but  one  or 
two  eggs  are  deposited,  for  when  the  full  complement  is 
laid,  and  the  birds  commence  to  sit,  they  seem  priceless 
to  them  As  they  approach  maturity  they  are  still  more 
anxious,  and  when  their  young  are  depending  upon 
them  for  safety  and  sustenance,  the  old  birds  care  but 
little  for  their  own  security,  and  with  harsh  cries  and 
pugnacious  motions  endeavour  to  drive  away  all  in- 
truders. Pugnacious  motions  are  the  protective  wiles 
this  bird  displays,  and  when  you  approach  their  nests 
the  old  birds  fly  round  your  head,  uttering  their  grating 
cries,  and  endeavour  by  their  boldness  to  drive  you 
away.  Magpies  and  Jays,  and  even  the  Sparrow-hawk, 
fare  but  badly  if  the  Missel-thrushes  attack  them  in 
defence  of  their  eggs  or  young.  Those  persons  who 
would  have  us  believe  that  the  song  of  the  male  bird  is 
given  forth  to  cheer  his  sitting  mate,  must  certainly  find 


36  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


an  exception  in  the  Missel-thrush,  for  on  no  account  do 
you  hear  his  tuneful  lay  cheering  his  sitting  mate,  and 
the  incubation  is  performed  in  silence,  a  fact  perhaps  not 
observable  in  any  other  British  songster. 

The  popular  belief  that  Missel-thrushes  drive  all 
birds  away  from  the  neighbourhood  of  their  nest,  and 
rear  their  young  apart  from  the  company  of  their  kindred, 
ought  to  be  received  with  explanation.  I  have  often 
found  the  nests  of  the  Greenfinch,  Chaffinch,  Magpie, 
Wren,  Thrush,  Ring  Ousel,  and  Blackbird,  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  nest  of  the  Missel-thrush  ;  all  living  peace- 
fully together,  and  each  performing  its  domestic  duties 
in  company.  I  have  seen  the  nest  of  the  Missel-thrush 
in  the  branches  of  a  tall  mountain  ash  :  the  nest  con- 
tained four  eggs.  In  a  small  hole  in  the  trunk  a  Redstart 
was  sitting  upon  her  eggs,  while  in  a  recess  amongst  the 
roots  of  the  tree  a  Wren  was  building  her  cave-like  home, 
and  a  Magpie  was  also  engaged  in  like  manner  amongst 
the  branches  of  a  wide-spreading  oak  close  by.  But, 
gentle  reader,  mistake  not  these  remarks,  I  pray  thee. 
If  the  nest  of  the  Missel-thrush  is  menaced  by  any  pre- 
datory bird — by  the  way  quite  a  different  matter — the 
parent  bird  will  strive  to  repel  its  approaches,  as  will 
most  birds,  more  or  less,  when  placed  in  similar  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  these  pugnacious  motions  are  un- 
doubtedly the  cause  of  this  erroneous  and  misleading 
statement.  Where  birds  are  closely  observed  the  utmost 
harmony  is  found  to  exist  between  them,  when  employed 
in  bringing  up  their  young.  Although  their  nests  be  but 
a  few  feet  apart,  each  performs  its  allotted  task  in  a 
manner  harmonising  with  the  instincts  with  which 
Nature  has  endowed  it. 

In  the  early  autumn  months  the  Missel-thrush  con- 
gregates into  little  parties,  and  by  the  latter  end  of 


THE  MISSEL-THRUSH.  37 

September  we  see  them  in  considerable  flecks.  But  as 
the  year  begins  to  wane  and  the  sun  enters  the  southern 
tropic,  these  birds,  from  at  present  an  unknown  cause, 
again  separate,  and  are  seen  solitary  or  in  little  parties. 
They  are  very  wild  at  this  particular  season,  probably 
more  so  than  at  any  other  time  of  the  year.  They 
frequent  the  turnip  lands  and  newly-ploughed  lands 
at  this  time,  feeding  on  the  insects  and  worms,  and  seek- 
ing the  grass  land  for  slugs,  taking  wing  the  instant 
danger  threatens,  flying  from  tree  to  tiee,  uttering  their 
harsh  and  grating  cries  both  when  at  rest  and  when  fly- 
ing through  the  air.  In  the  winter  months  Missel- 
thrushes  congregate  to  some  extent  with  the  Fieldfares, 
and  roam  about  from  one  place  to  another  in  search  of 
food.  It  is  seldom  now  they  come  near  man's  habitation 
save  when  hard  pressed  for  food  :  then,  however,  we-see 
them  on  the  hawthorn  trees,  or  regaling  themselves  upon 
the  berries  of  the  service  tree. 

A  word  as  to  the  Missel-thrush  feeding  on  the  berries 
of  the  mistletoe.  Popular  opinion  regards  this  waxen 
berry  as  the  staple  food  of  the  '  Stormcock,'  but  as  far 
as  my  own  observations  extend  I  consider  that  such  is 
not  the  case.  Here  the  mistletoe  grows  in  abundance 
on  the  poplar  trees,  and  the  '  Stormcocks '  abound  in  all 
directions,  yet  I  never  see  them  feeding  on  the  berries, 
nor  can  I  find  traces  of  them  in  the  stomachs  of  the 
birds.  Hence  I  am  led  to  believe  that  the  berry  is 
not  sought  after  so  closely  as  is  generally  supposed. 
Hawthorn  berries,  and  the  fruit  of  the  service  trees, 
seem  to  be  preferred  ;  and  he  who  would  wish  to  en- 
courage this  noble  bird,  and  have  his  domain  enlivened 
in  the  winter  months  by  his  wild  and  powerful  notes, 
will  do  well  to  cultivate  these  trees.  When  I  see  the 
mountain  ash  and  service  tree  expanding  their  lovely 


33  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

bunches  of  bloom,  and  the  hawthorn  assuming  its  snow- 
white  flowers  under  the  soothing  influence  of  the  vernal 
sun,  I  know  that  these  flowers  are  the  future  fruit  that 
will  feed  the  '  Stormcock '  and  his  congeners  when  their 
other  food  is  wanting  ;  and  I  pause  for  a  moment  to 
admire  these  graceful  daughters  of  Sylva,  and  reflect 
how  beautifully  every  animate  and  inanimate  object  of 
the  creation  performs  its  allotted  task  in  a  manner  bene- 
ncial  to  the  great  Commonwealth  of  Nature. 


THE   REDWING   AND  FIELDFARE, 

\VlIEN  the  mournful  winds  of  autumn  sigh  through  the 
semi-denuded  branches,  and  the  leaves  of  the  trees  are 
falling  all  around,  as 

One  by  one  they  wander  through 
The  Indian  summer's  hazy  blue, 

and  the  first  blasts  from  the  north  arrive,  the  Redwings, 
in  flocks,  are  in  their  van.  Already  winter  has  com- 
menced his  dreary  sway  in  their  far  northern  home,  and 
they  must  fly  before  him  to  those  lands  where  his  powers, 
though  of  no  mean  order,  can  yet  be  tolerated  by  these 
delightful  songsters.  Thus,  as  October's  nut-brown 
month  is  waning,  the  Redwing  arrives  here  to  spend  his 
winter.  Redwings,  in  my  opinion,  perform  their  migra- 
tions under  the  cover  of  night,  and  at  this  season  of  the 


40  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


year  I  often  hear  on  some  clear  and  starlight  night 
the  yelping  cries  of  the  Redwings  winning  their  way 
through  the  still  starlit  air  far  above  me  in  the  trackless 
heavens.  The  Redwing  arrives  in  this  country  much 
sooner  than  the  Fieldfare,  though  both  these  birds  inhabit 
the  same  northern  latitudes.  This  is  owing  to  the  Red- 
wing being  more  sensitive  to  cold  than  the  Fieldfare,  and 
numbers  of  these  '  Swedish  nightingales '  perish  from 
cold  in  a  hard  winter :  food,  too,  is  another  cause  for  this 
early  migration.  You  can  instantly  tell  the  Redwing 
from  any  other  of  the  Thrush  family  by  its  small  size,  the 
abundance  of  white  on  the  under  parts,  and  the  yellowish 
white  streak  of  plumage  over  the  eye.  Upon  their  arri- 
val we  find  the  Redwing  a  very  shy  and  wary  bird,  but 
in  a  few  weeks'  time  much  of  this  wariness  disappears, 
and  they  become  one  of  the  most  trustful  members  of 
this  charming  family  of  choristers.  We  find  the  Redwing 
delights  in  the  more  cultivated  parts  of  the  country,  fre- 
quenting well-wooded  parks,  and  pleasure  and  pasture 
grounds. 

Redwings  are  perhaps  more  nocturnal  in  their  habits 
than  any  other  British  Thrush.  As  I  wander  over  the 
pastures  when  the  shadows  of  night  are  falling,  I  often 
disturb  these  late-feeding  birds,  and  their  now  dusky 
forms  flit  by  me,  and  their  peculiar  cries  disturb  the  evening 
air  as  they  fly  rapidly  off  to  their  roosting-place.  The 
trustful  familiarity  of  these  birds  is  sometimes  very 
marked,  notably  so  in  keen  weather.  It  is  a  pleasing 
sight  to  watch  a  flock  of  Redwings  when  searching  the 
grass  land  for  food.  How  nimbly  they  hop  amongst  the 
frosted  grass,  ever  in  motion,  occasionally  taking  short 
flights  or  starting  up  to  look  warily  around.  If  alarmed, 
they  fly  off  in  small  parties  and  take  refuge  on  the  top- 
most branches  of  the  neighbouring  trees,  and  then  when 


THE  REDWING  AND  FIELDFARE.  41 

the  danger  has  subsided  leaving  their  elevated  perching- 
places  in  the  same  manner.  First  one  will  fly  boldly 
down,  others  follow,  and  so  on  until  the  whole  flock  are 
again  engaged  in  obtaining  food.  We  often  see,  how- 
ever, one  or  two  birds  perched  in  the  trees  close  to  which 
the  flock  is  feeding.  These  do  duty  as  sentinels,  and 
give  forth  alarm  notes  on  the  approach  of  danger.  These 
signals  are  heard  by  the  feeding  birds  below,  who  in- 
stantly take  wing,  very  often  to  the  mortification  of  the 
wandering  gunner,  who  tries  in  vain  to  discharge  his 
piece  at  the  harmless  creatures. 

The  partiality  of  the  Redwing  for  animal  substances 
is  no  doubt  the  primary  cause  of  their  permanent  resid- 
dence  in  one  neighbourhood  throughout  their  sojourn  in 
this  country.  In  the  winter  months  the  land  frequented 
by  them  is  very  often  like  one  huge  sponge,  teeming  with 
abundant  food,  and  on  which  they  are  always  found. 
This  bird  is  not  near  so  much  a  berry-feeder  as  is 
currently  supposed.  Upon  their  arrival  we  find  them, 
it  is  true,  regaling  themselves  on  the  fruits  of  the  haw- 
thorn and  service  tree,  but  this  only  occurs  for  a  few 
weeks  after  their  arrival,  and  I  then  see  them  for  the 
most  part  obtaining  worms  on  the  grass  land,  and  only 
returning  to  the  berry-bearing  trees  and  shrubs  when 
the  ground  is  frozen  hard  as  adamant. 

I  know  not  whether  the  song  of  this  bird  is  fre- 
quently heard  in  the  winter  months,  but  with  me  it  is 
certainly  of  the  rarest  occurrence.  I  have  given  the 
birds  my  closest  attention  with  regard  to  this  matter, 
but  their  song  has  only  once  greeted  my  ear.  One  of 
those  sunny  days  in  December,  when  everything  around 
almost  put  me  in  mind  of  the  coming  spring-  the  Robin 
chanting  his  delightful  notes  far  up  in  the  naked 
branches,  and  the  little  Wren  pouring  forth  his  jerking 


42  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


song  from  the  undergrowth  :  a  number  of  redwings,  too, 
were  feeding  on  the  surrounding  grass  fields,  when  one 
of  their  number  flew  from  the  rest,  and  perched  on  a 
lowly  hawthorn  tree,  some  ten  yards  away,  and  com- 
menced singing.  I  can  only  compare  the  notes  of  the 
Redwing  to  a  mixture  of  Song-thrush  and  Blackcap 
melody,  the  whole  being  given  forth  in  one  long  warb- 
ling strain,  varied  by  several  harsh  and  guttural  notes. 
Well  does  the  Redwing  merit  the  title  of  '  Swedish  night- 
ingale/ a  title  bestowed  upon  it  by  the  great  and 
illustrious  Linnaeus  ;  for  still  more  beautiful  must  be  his 
song  when  inspired  by  love — still  more  charming  will 
its  tones  appear  when  given  forth  amongst  the  pine-clad 
hills  of  his  far  northern  home.  He  continued  singing 
for  a  few  moments,  when  an  unlucky  movement  on  my 
part  sent  him  hastily  away  to  the  company  of  his  kin- 
dred .on  the  adjoining  meadows.  Few  birds  possess 
such  a  variety  of  call  notes  as  the  Redwing.  A  musical 
one,  something  like  the  call  note  of  the  Skylark,  is 
uttered  when  the  birds  are  passing  through  the  air ; 
their  alarm  notes  are  a  yelping  cry  ;  and  when  settling 
down  to  rest,  harsh  cries  like  those  of  the  Stormcock, 
only  a  trifle  more  musical,  and  low  squealing  notes, 
varied  with  peculiar  guttural  ones,  are  uttered. 

I  have  paid  great  attention  to  these  birds  just  prior 
to  their  departure  to  the  north,  and  examined  carefully 
their  haunts  weeks  after  they  have  vacated  them,  but 
have  never  yet  found  any  of  them  tarry  here  to  breed. 
Redwings  are  strictly  gregarious,  they  feed  together,  fly 
together,  roost  together,  and  I  am  told,  for  of  their  nest- 
ing habits  I  am  totally  unacquainted,  that  in  companies 
they  build  their  nests.  Certain  it  is  that  none  remain 
to  breed  near  here.  Should  the  reader  have  the  good 
fortune  to  discover  the  nest  he  will  at  once  identify  it ; 


THE   REDWING  AND  FIELDFARE.  43 

for  its  nest  is  lined  with  the  finer  grasses,  like  the  Black- 
bird's, and  the  eggs,  judging  from  one  in  my  possession, 
taken  in  Sweden,  very  closely  resemble  the  eggs  of 
that  bird,  but  are,  of  course,  very  much  smaller. 

Redwings  are  found  in  the  same  locality  year  after 
year,  and  nightly  seek  the  same  place  for  repose  ;  and 
often  do  I  take  shelter  under  the  yew  tree's  dense  and 
impenetrable  foliage  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  them 
retire  to  rest.  Early  in  the  evening  a  few  of  the  birds 
are  seen  on  the  neighbouring  trees,  but  as  the  evening 
is  emerging  into  night,  and  the  moon  assumes  her 
borrowed  light,  the  birds  come  in  flocks  from  the 
pastures,  their  wings  rustling  in  the  still  evening  air, 
and  their  call  and  alarm  notes  fill  the  air  around  with 
tumult.  Down  they  settle  on  the  tallest  underwood  ; 
yelp,  yelp,  is  heard  in  all  directions,  and  one  by  one  I 
see  them  seek  their  roosting-place.  Numbers  retire  to 
the  ivy,  others  to  the  yew,  while  many  seek  the  holly's 
glossy  sprays  for  their  purpose.  Now  one  flutters 
hastily  into  the  bush  under  which  I  am  standing,  but 
noticing  man's  baneful  presence,  he  flies  quickly  off  to 
more  suitable  quarters.  As  the  stars  shine  out  one  by 
one,  solemn  stillness  reigns  around,  occasionally  broken 
by  the  fluttering  of  some  benighted  songster;  but  these 
sounds  cease  at  last,  and  I  know  that  just  around  me 
some  two  hundred  members  of  the  feathered  race  arc 
lulled  in  tranquil  sleep  in  the  bosom  of  the  warm  and 
friendly  evergreen. 

In  the  latter  end  of  March  the  Redwings  visibly 
decrease  in  numbers,  and  as  the  month  of  April 
approaches  they  have  left  us  in  still  larger  numbers  for 
the  north.  Flock  succeeds  flock,  and  before  the  middle 
of  April  arrives,  they  are  probably  in  safety  on  the  far 
northern  shores  of  Norway. 


44  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

The  secord  of  these  little  wanderers  arrives  here 
much  later  in  the  season  than  its  aforementioned  con- 
gener. November's  blasts  have  stripped  the  forest  trees 
of  their  covering,  and  the  evergreens  stand  out  promi- 
nent in  all  the  splendour  of  their  glossy  garb,  ere  we  see 
the  Fieldfares  winging  their  way  through  the  heavens. 
Like  the  Redwing,  the  Fieldfare,  in  my  opinion,  migrates 
in  the  night  ;  for  not  a  single  bird  will  be  seen  one  day, 
while  the  next,  long  before  sunrise,  they  are  observed  in 
incredible  numbers.  I  have  but  small  doubt  that  the 
Missel-thrush  is  often  taken  for  the  Fieldfare,  but  their 
cry  may  instantly  inform  the  one  well  versed  in  the 
notes  of  the  feathered  tribes.  It  is  much  more  harsh 
and  guttural  than  either  the  Missel-thrush  or  Song- 
thrush  ;  besides,  the  Fieldfares  fly  in  large  flocks,  an 
act  never  observed  in  the  economy  of  the  Song-thrush, 
and  only  in  the  autumn  months  in  the  case  of  the  Missel- 
thrush.  The  Fieldfare  is  of  a  far  more  decided  wander- 
ing disposition  than  the  Redwing,  and  this  is  obvious 
when  we  reflect  that  the  bird  is,  when  residing  with  us, 
for  the  most  part  a  berry-feeder.  Once  arrived  in  a  dis- 
trict abounding  with  their  favourite  food  (berries),  and 
they  remain  until  all  is  consumed.  He  who  would  wish 
to  encourage  the  Fieldfares  around  him  should  pay 
special  care  to  the  cultivation  of  his  evergreens,  and 
plant  with  unsparing  hand  the  mountain  ash,  service 
tree,  and  hawthorn,  in  all  parts  of  his  domain,  for  it  is 
on  the  fruit  of  these  and  kindred  trees  that  the  Field- 
fare finds  his  main  support. 

When  the  snow  is  lying  thickly  on  the  ground  I  sec 
the  Fieldfares  flying  over  the  dreary  waste  near  man's 
habitations,  or  satisfying  their  hunger  in  the  berry-bear- 
ing trees  near  his  threshold,  but  I  but  rarely  see  the 


THE   REDWING  AND  FIELDFARE.  45 

Redwing  in  their  company.  The  Stormcock  is  found 
with  them  not  unfrequently,  for  he,  too,  at  this  season,  is 
a  decided  berry- feeder.  But  when  the  snow  has  all  dis- 
appeared, and  a  few  days  of  open  weather  follow,  the 
Fieldfares  seldom  stay  if  the  berries  are  consumed,  and 
rarely,  or  never,  seek  the  grass  land  with  the  Redwing. 
There  are  few  birds  more  shy  and  wary  than  the  Field- 
fare, for  if  once  disturbed  they  invariably  take  ofif  to 
some  considerable  distance  in  a  long  straggling  train, 
and  as  they  fly  rapidly,  and  as  a  rule  out  of  gunshot, 
they  are  comparatively  safe  at  a  season  when  the  poor 
half-frozen  songsters  are  so  ruthlessly  murdered. 

Like  the  Redwing,  the  Fieldfare,  when  with  us  at 
least,  is  gregarious.  They  arrive  here  in  flocks,  and  in 
flocks  return  to  the  north,  but  of  their  nesting  habits  I 
am  unacquainted.  Their  nests,  from  specimens  I  have 
seen  brought  from  northern  Russia,  are  very  similar  to 
the  Blackbird,  and  the  eggs  closely  resemble  those  of  the 
Ring  Ousel,  with  the  exception  that  they  are  slightly 
smaller. 

The  Fieldfare  is  of  such  irregular  habits  that  the  ex- 
act time  they  leave  us  would  be  difficult  to  mention. 
Certain  it  is  they  leave  us  much  sooner  than  the  Redwing, 
for  I  but  rarely  see  them  after  the  third  week  in 
February,  the  state  of  the  weather  influencing  con- 
siderably their  migratory  movements.  We  are  still  in 
ignorance  as  to  many  of  the  causes  of  migration,  and 
probably  shall  ever  remain  so.  Here  we  have  two 
Thrushes,  differing  in  no  perceptible  degree  in  their  habits 
and  requirements  from  resident  species,  that  leave  us 
every  spring,  and  repair  hundreds  of  miles  to  the  north, 
for  the  purpose  of  rearing  their  young.  And  what  end 
is  gained  by  such  procedure  ?  That  some  benefit  is 


46  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

obtained  we  may  rest  assured,  and  that  the  birds  have 
an  all-important  purpose  to  fulfil  in  thus  leaving  us  eyery 
season  for  those  northern  climes — a  purpose  which, 
although  as  yet  unknown  to  us,  is  still,  mayhap,  of  vital 
importance  to  these  two  interesting  little  wanderers. 


THE  RING   OUSEL.    '  47 


THE  RING    OUSEL. 

ON  the  barren  moor,  where  the  mountain  ash  and 
graceful  silver  birch  are  wafted  with  the  health-giving 
mountain  breeze  ;  where  huge  boulders  of  rocks  are  piled 
upon  each  other,  by  some  stupendous  convulsion  of 
nature,  in  endless  confusion  ;  where  the  roaring  mountain 
stream  rolls  down  in  silent  grandeur ;  and  where  the  red 
Grouse  and  Merlin,  true  birds  of  the  mist  and  heather, 
find  a  haunt — there  too  the  Ring  Ousel  finds  a  safe  and 
secluded  home.  Amid  scenes  so  desolate,  yet  so  full  of 
solemn  grandeur,  he  pipes  his  song  and  rears  his  young 
in  peace.  What  careth  he  for  the  shrieking  winds  as 
they  drive  with  fury  through  his  haunts.  'Tis  but  music 
to  him,  and  his  rugged  fastnesses  are  preferred  to  more 
pastoral  scenes,  save  when  our  garden  fruits  are  ripe ; 
but  even  then  he  strays  but  little  from  his  beloved  home 
until,  by  resistless  impulse  driven,  he  follows  the  sun  in  his 
journey  to  the  southern  tropic,  to  his  home  in  the  sunny 
south.  Such  is  the  Ring  Ousel's  home.  We  will  now  give 
the  bird  our  attention. 

The  Ring  Ousel  is  one  of  our  spring  visitors,  and  the 
only  Thrush  which  comes  to  our  shores  to  spend  the 
summer.  He  arrives  here  the  first  week  in  April,  some- 
times in  flocks  of  several  hundred  individuals,  remaining 
in  flocks  or  parties,  as  the  case  may  be,  for  a  few  days 
frequenting  the  marshy  ground  in  search  of  food.  If 
disturbed,  they  all  rise,  and  after  wheeling  about  in  the  air 


48  RURAL    BIRD  LIFE. 

for  a  short  time,  again  alight  at  some  distance  from  the 
observer,  for  a  shy  and  wary  creature  is  the  Ring  Ousel, 
and  particularly  so  just  after  its  arrival.  They  soon 
separate  into  pairs,  and  spread  themselves  over  the 
moorland  districts.  Soon  after  their  arrival  the  male 
birds  are  heard  singing  in  all  directions,  and,  by  exer- 
cising a  little  caution  in  your  approach,  you  may  get 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  bird,  and  thus  observe  him 
closely.  Monotonous  as  is  the  song  of  the  Ring  Ousel, 
still  its  loud  tones,  and  the  noble  bearing  of  the  bird 
itself,  fully  harmonise  with  the  wild  surroundings. 
Perched  very  often  on  some  storm-riven  tree  growing 
out  of  the  gray  and  massive  rocks,  the  Ring  Ousel,  with 
his  white  cravat  glistening  in  the  sun,  pours  forth  his 
notes — notes  resembling  those  of  the  Starling,  the  piping 
of  the  Blackbird,  and  the  varied  tones  of  the  Song-thrush. 
The  bird  after  several  piping  notes  calls  forth  in  harsh 
tones,  as  if  in  mockery  of  his  own  performance.  Motion- 
less he  sits,  with  probably  a  minute  between  each  snatch 
of  song.  If  alarmed,  his  wild  notes  cease,  and,  with  his 
loud  cries  echoing  in  the  rocks  around,  he  flys  off  to  a 
more  secluded  resting-place.  Whenever  I  stray  on  to 
the  wild  moorlands  in  summer,  the  Ring  Ousel,  with  his 
loud  call  notes  of  tac  tac  tac,  tac  tac  tac,  comes  forth  to 
meet  me,  and  seems  to  challenge  my  right  of  approach. 
He  alights  on  the  boulders  of  rocks  before  me,  and  flits 
from  bush  to  bush  as  I  wander  on.  I  observe  him 
closely,  and  I  find  he  possesses  the  habit  in  common 
with  the  Blackbird  of  elevating  the  tail  upon  alighting. 
His  female,  with  her  more  dingy  garb,  keeps  out  of  sight 
and  is  more  rarely  seen. 

On  the  rugged  sides  of  the  steep  mountain  gorges 
which  occur  so  frequently  in  the  wild  and  lonely  Peak 
of  Derbyshire  ;  in  some  stunted  bush  on  the  gorse  and 


THE  RING   OUSEL.  49 


heath-covered  bank  of  the  mountain  lake  ;  on  the  banks 
of  the  roaring  current  ;  or  snugly  located  amongst  the 
purple  heather's  bushy  branches,  on  the  wide-spreading 
moor — in  all  these  situations  the  nest  of  the  Ring  Ousel 
may  be  found  artfully  concealed,  never  very  high  from 
the  ground,  and  always  well  and  compactly  constructed. 
Early  in  May  is  their  nesting  season,  and  but  one  brood  is 
reared  in  the  year.  The  site  chosen,  the  little  builders  first 
make  a  nest  of  dried  grass,  the  sides  mayhap  bound 
together  with  a  few  birchen  twigs :  they  then  line  this 
structure  with  a  thick  coating  of  mud,  obtained  from  the 
nearest  water-side  or  marshy  swamp.  The  nest  now  is 
very  deep  for  its  breadth,  but  upon  the  mud  the  birds 
place  a  large  quantity  of  finer  grass,  as  a  lining.  The 
mud  hardens,  and  the  whole  structure  forms  a  well-made 
cradle  for  their  little  ones.  The  eggs  of  the  Ring  Ousel, 
four  or  five  in  number,  so  closely  resemble  those  of  the 
Blackbird,  that  even  the  most  practised  eyes  are  very 
often  unable  to  discriminate  any  difference  between 
them.  I  think,  however,  as  a  rule,  the  Ring  Ousel's 
eggs  are  a  little  the  largest,  and  more  deeply  blotched 
and  bolder  in  their  markings.  They  are  bluish-green 
in  ground  colour,  speckled  and  blotched  with  reddish 
brown  :  some  specimens  have  one  or  two  brown  streaks, 
notably  at  the  larger  end. 

No  birds  defend  their  eggs  or  young  with  more 
matchless  courage  than  the  Ring  Ousel.  Approach 
their  treasure,  and  although  you  have  no  knowledge  of 
its  whereabouts,  you  speedily  know  that  you  are  on 
sacred  ground,  or,  more  plainly  speaking,  on  the  nest- 
ing-site of  this  bird  of  the  moor.  Something  sweeps 
suddenly  round  your  head,  probably  brushing  your  face. 
You  look  round,  and  there  the  Ring  Ousel,  perched  close 
at  hand,  is  eyeing  you  wrathfully,  and  ready  to  do 

E 


50  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

battle,  despite  the  odds,  for  the  protection  of  her  abode. 
Move,  and  the  attack  is  renewed,  this  time  with  loud 
and  dissonant  cries  that  wake  the  solitudes  of  the  barren 
moor  around.  Undauntedly  the  bird  flies  round  you, 
now  dashing  into  your  face,  or  reeling  and  tumbling  on 
the  ground  in  very  anguish  and  despair.  Who  could 
view  such  a  scene  unmoved.  As  you  approach  still 
closer,  protective  instinct,  if  possible,  works  more  power- 
fully within  her  ;  her  cries,  with  those  of  her  mate,  dis- 
turb the  birds  around  ;  the  Red  Grouse,  startled,  skims 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  hill  to  find  solitude  ;  the  Moor 
Pipit  chirps  anxiously  by,  and  the  gay  little  Stonechat 
flits  uneasily  from  bush  to  bush.  How  great  is  her 
maternal  love  !  How  unceasing  in  his  vigilance  is  her 
mate!  Let  us  leave  them  to  their  rugged  haunt,  to 
attend  to  their  duties  in  what  the  birds  love  best,  the 
absence  of  man  and  the  presence  of  solitude.  Even 
when  the  nest  is  but  half  built  I  have  known  these  birds 
unceasing  in  their  efforts  to  drive  me  away.  I  have  even 
struck  the  bird  repeatedly  with  a  fishing-rod,  but, 
undaunted,  she  has  kept  up  the  unequal  contest,  and 
followed  me  quite  out  of  the  neighbourhood  of  her 
unfinished  home,  and  then  returned  in  triumph  to  aid 
in  its  completion. 

The  food  of  the  Ring  Ousel  is  snails  and  worms,  for 
which  they  may  often  be  seen  hunting  on  the  marshy 
land  peculiar  to  the  moors  :  insects  and  beetles  are  also 
eaten.  When  the  bilberries  are  ripe  the  bird  subsists 
largely  on  them  ;  the  gardens,  too,  near  their  haunts, 
when  the  various  fruits  are  ripe,  suffer  considerably  from 
their  repeated  visits.  But  soon  the  fruit  is  gathered, 
and  the  Ring  Ousels  must  see  about  their  great  journey. 
They  leave  their  haunts  solitarily,  or  in  little  parties,  but 
as  they  journey  southwards  they  congregate  in  flocks, 


THE  RIATG   OUSEL. 


and  very  probably  keep  in  flocks  throughout  the  winter, 
and  until  they  return  once  more  to  their  northern 
breeding-grounds.  The  moors  glow  in  all  the  splendour 
of  their  purple  tints,  the  woods  and  coppices  are  already 
touched  by  autumn's  magic  wand,  and  the  Ring  Ousels 
must  not  tarry.  To  do  so  would  probably  be  death  ;  for 
peaceful  and  lovely  as  the  scene  now  appears,  the  winter 
is  nigh  with  all  its  terrors,  and  the  Ring  Ousels,by  Nature's 
mandates  commanded,  leave  the  moor  and  the  moun- 
tain, to  spend  their  winter  secure  in  a  southern  clime.  It 
has  been  said  that  the  Ring  Ousel  winters  in  England  ; 
but  from  my  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  this  bird, 
the  case  is  only  analogous  with  the  Swallow, 


THE  BLACKBIRD. 

HE  who  makes  field  ornithology  his  study  will  not 
fail  to  notice  how  each  district,  varying  in  its  scenery, 
possesses  birds  peculiar  to  it  alone.  Thus  the  Red  Grouse 
loves  his  lonely  moor  ;  the  Lapwing  delights  to  soar  in 
reeling  flight  over  the  naked  common  ;  the  Woodpecker 
loves  the  silent  woods,  and  the  Landrail  his  pastoral 
haunt.  Birds  of  the  Thrush  family,  too,  exhibit  this  pre- 
ference in  a  marked  degree.  Thus  we  find  the  Thrush, 
Blackbird,  and  Redwing  inhabit,  as  a  rule,  our  pastoral 
lands  and  shrubberies ;  the  Fieldfare  is  a  wanderer  ; 
while  the  family  is  represented  by  the  Missel-thrush  in 
the  woods  and  wilder  districts  ;  while,  yet  again,  the 
heath-covered  moor  and  mountain-sides  have  their  charm 
for  the  Ring  Ousel. 

It  is  in  the  shrubberies,  where  the  laurels,  the  yews, 
and  the  hollies  spread  their  glossy  branches,  and  where 
the  ivy  climbs  up  the  trees  in  wild  confusion,  that  we 
find  the  Blackbird  in  greatest  abundance,  especially  so 


THE  BLACKBIRD.  53 

if  grass  lands  adjoin  them.  Being  by  nature  a  shy  and 
retiring  bird,  these  situations  are  preferred  before  any 
other,  simply  because  the  evergreen's  dark  and  gloomy 
branches  afford  him  nesting-sites,  roosting-places,  and, 
above  all,  the  seclusion  which  he  loves. 

As  you  wander  through  the  shrubberies,  say  when 
the  shadows  of  night  are  falling,  you  will  often  hear  a 
rustling  noise  under  the  spreading  laurels,  amongst  the 
withered  leaves.  It  is  the  Blackbird,  frightened  at  your 
approach.  If  you  alarm  him  still  further,  he  dashes  rapidly 
out,  and  with  loud  and  startling  cries  flies  off  to  some 
safer  cover.  As  the  darkness  deepens  you  have  good 
opportunity  of  watching  their  actions  when  retiring  to 
rest.  Conceal  yourself  under  the  friendly  branches  of  a 
yew  tree,  and  wait  patiently.  You  hear  their  loud 
startling  cries  in  all  directions,  and  catch  occasional 
glimpses  of  their  dark  forms  flitting  hither  and  thither 
in  the  gloom.  Pink,  pink,  pink,  tac,  tac,  tac,  tac,  is 
heard  on  every  side.  Now  one  comes  fluttering  into  the 
bush  under  which  you  are  concealed,  and  his  notes 
startle  you  by  their  nearness.  A  short  distance  away 
another  answers.  Another  and  another,  in  different 
directions,  also  swell  the  noisy  clamour,  and  you  hear  on 
every  side  their  fluttering  wings  amongst  the  perennial 
branches  around  you.  Gradually  the  cries  cease  in 
number  as  the  birds  settle  down  to  rest ;  a  solitary  cry 
will  break  the  stillness  of  the  evening  air,  but  remain  un- 
answered ;  and  the  only  sounds  that  break  the  oppressive 
silence  are  the  evening  notes  of  the  Robin,  or  mayhap  the 
peculiar  call  of  the  Qoatsucker,  winnowing  his  way 
through  the  trackless  air  above. 

Morning  and  evening  are  the  times  the  Blackbird 
usually  seeks  his  food.  This  is  for  the  most  part,  in 
summer  at  least,  obtained  on  the  grass  land  near  his 


54  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

haunts.  One  by  one  you  see  them  fly  rapidly  out  and 
alight  amongst  the  grass.  He  remains  motionless  for  a 
few  seconds  after  alighting,  with  legs  at  a  graceful  angle, 
neck  arched,  head  slightly  turned  aside,  as  though  he 
were  listening  intently,  and  tail  almost  at  right  angles 
to  the  body  (for  be  it  known  the  Blackbird,  like  the 
Magpie  and  the  Ring  Ousel,  always  elevates  the  tail  upon 
alighting),  which  is  crouching  low  amongst  the  herbage. 
When  in  this  position  he  presents  an  attitude  the  arme 
of  easy  gracefulness  and  beauty.  No  museum  attitude 
there,  for  he  can  never  be  seen  in  such  graceful,  though 
wary  ease,  save  when  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  life  and 
vigour.  Therefore,  he  who  would  wish  to  see  this  jet 
black  chorister  in  such  attitude  must  stray  into  his  haunts 
at  morning  or  eventide,  and  watch  his  motions  when  on 
the  pastures  in  search  of  his  meal.  Few  birds  are  more 
wary  whilst  feeding  than  the  Blackbird,  and  the  instant 
danger  threatens  he  retires  into  the  fastnesses  whence 
he  came.  Morning  and  evening  are  the  times  animal 
substances  abound  on  the  pastures  :  it  is  then  the  small 
snails  occur  in  largest  numbers,  and  the  earthworms 
leave  their  holes  and  visit  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
The  Blackbird  knows  this  full  well,  and  acts  accordingly. 
It  is  an  animating  sight  to  see  a  number  of  these  birds 
engaged  in  feeding ;  now  digging  away  at  some 
tenacious  worm  ;  now  exploring  the  manure  heap  for 
the  beetles,  worms,  and  insect  life  with  which  it  abounds, 
every  now  and  then  pausing  in  their  labours  and  look- 
ing warily  around.  At  the  sight  of  so  many  Blackbirds 
together  you  would  most  likely  consider  them  as  a 
gregarious  species,  yet  the- reverse  is  the  case,  and  it  is 
only  their  food  brings  them  together.  All  their  food, 
however,  is  not  obtained  from  the  pastures.  Lurking 
amongst  the  hedgerows  are  numerous  snails,  inhabiting 


THE  BLACKBIRD.  55 

prettily  marked  shells  :  these  shells  the  Blackbird  breaks 
open  and  preys  upon  the  snails  within.  Insects  and 
grubs  are  also  eaten,  and  in  the  autumn  months  the 
berries  of  the  mountain  ash,  service  tree,  hawthorn,  and 
wild  rose  are  eaten  in  abundance.  Our  garden  fruits  are 
also  eaten,  wild  fruits  too  are  preyed  upon — notably  the 
wild  raspberry,  blackberry,  and  sloe.  Should  his  depre- 
dations amongst  your  fruit  trouble  you,  take  not  his  life, 
and  bear  in  mind  his  labours  in  the  spring  time  make 
ample  amends  for  any  losses  of  fruit  that  occur  in 
autumn,  and  his  music  is  as  charming  as  that  of  any 
other  songster  that  fills  the  grove  with  gladness. 

The  Blackbird  is  a  pugnacious  creature  in  pairing 
time.  A  little  before  the  period  of  the  vernal  equinox 
it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  male  Blackbirds  fighting 
with  perfect  fury,  chasing  each  other  through  the  branches 
until  one  comes  off  victorious,  and  the  other  slinks 
silently  away.  Most  birds  are  more  or  less  pugnacious 
in  the  mating  season,  although  peaceable  enough  at 
other  times,  yet  this  does  not  hold  good  with  Black- 
birds, for  at  all  times  you  will  frequently  see  them  dis- 
playing animosity  towards  each  other. 

The  song  of  the  Blackbird  commences  the  latter  part 
of  February,  and  continues  with  increasing  powers  until 
the  end  of  May,  when  his  notes  are  on  the  wane  through- 
out June's  leafy  month,  and  in  July  his  mellow  pipe  is 
hushed  in  the  autumnal  moult  until  the  advent  of  the 
following  spring.  The  song  of  the  Blackbird  is  rich  and 
full  in  its  tone,  but  possesses  little  variety  :  however,  there 
is  not  a  doubt  but  what  the  Blackbird's  melody  ranks 
as  one  of  the  finest  amongst  all  the  songsters  frequent- 
ing our  land  in  summer  and  winter  alike.  The  Blackbird 

o 

will,  though  rarely  it  is  true,  warble  his  delightful  strain 
when  coursing  through  the  air-  Early  morning,  about 


$6  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


sunrise,  and  after  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  in  the 
latter  part  of  April's  fresh  and  vernal  month,  are  the 
times  the  Blackbird's  powers  of  song  are  heard  to  best 
advantage. 

The  Blackbird  pairs  early  in  the  season,  sometimes 
late  in  the  month  of  February,  although  the  nest  is  not 
found  quite  as  soon  as  the  nest  of  the  Song-thrush.  The 
nest  of  the  Blackbird  is  placed  in  various  situations. 
You  frequently  find  it  amongst  the  evergreens,  ye\v, 
laurel,  holly,  bay,  or  ivy,  it  matters  not  which  ;  then 
you  occasionally  find  it  some  forty  feet  or  more  up  the 
branches  of  the  forest  tree  ;  while  yet  again  the  ground 
alone  supports  it,  and  the  hedgerows  are  often  selected. 
I  have  known  the  Blackbird  build  its  nest  in  a  shed.  I 
have  also  found  it  simply  placed  on  a  stone  projecting 
from  a  wall,  from  which  it  could  be  removed  and  re- 
placed without  any  anxiety  for  the  birds  forsaking  it. 
The  nest  is  built  of  dry  grasses,  sometimes  a  few  slender 
twigs,  a  little  moss,  and  lined,  in  the  first  place,  with 
wet  mud  alone ;  this  is  again  lined  with  the  finer 
grasses,  and  when  dry  the  whole  structure  is  very  firm 
and  compact.  The  eggs  are  four,  five,  and  even  six  in 
number,  and,  like  the  nesting-site,  subject  to  no  little 
variety,  both  in  size,  shape,  and  markings.  Many  of  the 
eggs  are  very  small ;  some  are  pear-shaped,  others 
almost  round.  The  ground  colour  on  many  is  greenish- 
blue,  spotted  and  blotched  with  rich  reddish  brown ; 
others  have  the  ground  colour  more  clouded,  and  a  zone 
of  colouring  matter  round  the  end  of  the  egg.  But  the 
most  curious  variety  are  pale  bluish-green  in  ground 
colour,  faintly  marked  with  a  few  claret  spots,  or,  not 
unfrequently,  quite  pure  and  spotless.  Both  birds  sit 
upon  the  eggs  or  young,  the  male  in  many  cases  quite 
as  frequently  as  the  female.  When  the  nest  is  ap- 


THE  BLACKBIRD.  57 

preached  the  sitting  bird  either  glides  silently  off,  or 
remains  silent  and  motionless,  very  often  until  touched 
by  the  hand  ere  it  quits  the  nest.  The  call  note  in  the 
nesting  season  of  the  male  Blackbird  resembles  the  call 
note  of  the  Robin,  and  is  indescribably  plaintive  and 
beautiful.  The  young  birds  are  fed  on  worms,  snails, 
grubs,  and  insects,  and  the  parent  birds  tend  them  but 
a  short  time  indeed  after  they  quit  the  nest.  Not  unfre- 
quently  two  broods  are  reared  in  the  year. 

Though  the  Blackbird  frequents  the  hedgerows  in 
summer,  still  he  abandons  them  long  before  the  autumnal 
blasts  strip  them  of  their  verdure.  Exceptions  are  found 
to  this,  but  only  where  the  hedges  are  unusually  dense, 
and  sunken  fences  occur.  The  Blackbird  then  retires  to 
the  neighbouring  shrubberies,  and  woods  studded  with 
evergreens,  where  he  remains  in  seclusion  during  the 
moulting  season.  His  habits,  however,  you  will  find  at 
all  times  shy  and  retiring.  A  skulking  bird,  he  is  with 
difficulty  flushed,  and  if  in  open  places,  the  least  alarm 
sends  him  hurriedly  off  into  the  cover,  from  which  he 
seldom  strays  far  away. 

The  Blackbird,  with  me  at  least,  is  a  partially  mi- 
gratory species.  His  numbers  decrease  after  the  au- 
tumnal moult,  and  go  on  decreasing,  until  in  November 
his  presence  is  only  represented  by  one  or  two  solitary 
birds.  He  returns  in  the  same  mysterious  manner,  and 
early  in  February  again  appears  in  his  wonted  numbers. 


THE  DIPPER. 

PERCHED  on  a  rock  in  the  centre  of  the  stream,  which 
whirls  and  boils  with  incessant  clamour  over  its  rocky 
bed  from  the  mountains  far  above,  we  very  often  see  the 
Dipper,  a  bird  slightly  smaller  than  a  Thrush,  his  snow- 
white  throat  and  breast  contrasting  richly  with  the  brown 
of  his  other  plumage.  At  first  sight  he  puts  you  in  mind 
of  the  Wren,  and  the  incessant  activity  and  peculiar 
crouching  attitude  bear  out  the  analogy  between  that 
active  little  creature  and  this  bird  of  the  wild.  He  is, 
indeed,  a  strange  bird,  and  well  worthy  of  your  attention  ; 


THE  DIPPER.  59 

quite  as  much  at  home  in  the  water  as  the  Divers  them- 
selves, and  as  active  on  the  land  as  any  of  the  Thrushes  : 
but  more  of  this  anon.  Then,  too,  throughout  the  keenest 
weather  he  quits  not  the  waters  of  the  roaring  stream, 
and  is  as  active  amongst  the  icicle-draped  rocks  as  when 
the  summer  sun  was  scorching  them  with  .its  meridian 
rays.  The  Plovers  quit  their  upland  haunts,  now  frozen 
hard  as  iron,  and  the  Ring  Ousel  has  long  ago  retired  to 
more  genial  climes  ;  but  still  the  Dipper  lingers,  and 
experiences  no  inconvenience  by  doing  so.  The  very 
fact  of  the  stream  being  ever  in  troubled  motion  is  the 
cause  of  his  perpetual  residence  on  its  banks  ;  for  the 
frost  'never  binds  its  waters  in  its  tight  embrace,  and  they 
being  always  open,  his  food  is  always  there,  and  he  has  no 
cause  to  wander.  He  is  a  bird  full  of  activity,  flying  in 
u  shooting  course  before  us ;  now  alighting  on  the  grassy 
banks,  and  then  on  the  rocky  boulders,  round  which  the 
foam -crested  waters  dash  and  boil  in  seemingly  ex- 
hausted rage.  He  sometimes  is  flushed  with  difficulty,  and 
then  flies  so  slowly  as  to  appear  wounded  ;  but  should 
you  be  tempted  by  his  seeming  helplessness  to  pursue 
him,  he  takes  good  care  to  «vade  you,  advancing  in  short 
flights,  it  is  true  ;  but,  ever  wary,  he  takes  wing  the 
moment  you  think  you  have  him  secure,  and  departs 
still  further  up  the  stream,  appearing  to  exult  in  your 
mortification.  The  Dipper  is  a  solitary  bird,  and,  save  in 
the  breeding  season,  is  rarely  found  even  in  the  company 
of  its  own  species.  Each  bird  seems  to  haunt  a  certain 
part  of  the  stream,  to  which  it  strictly  keeps,  and  is 
seldom  or  never  seen  to  associate  with  other  birds.  The 
Dipper  seldom  strays  far  from  the  waters,  for  they  afford 
him  all  he  requires,  nor  does  he  frequent  the  trees  and 
shrubs.  The  waters  and  their  banks  supply  him  with 


60  RURAL  BIRL  LIFE. 

abundant  food,  and  the  rocks  around  furnish  nesting-sites 
in  abundance. 

The  song  of  the  Dipper  is  first  heard  early  in  April, 
sometimes,  but  rarely,  in  March,  and  a  short  and  pleasing 
performance  it  is,  fully  harmonising  with  the  wild 
grandeur  of  the  scene  around.  He  warbles  his  lay  from 
the  banks  of  the  stream,  or  not  unfrequently  when 
crouching  low  on  the  rocks  in  the  midst  of  its  roaring 
waters.  There,  with  the  milk-white  foam  dancing  on 
the  crests  of  the  waves,  and  the  spray  falling  like  mist 
around  him,  he  chants  his  love  song.  When  in  such  a 
situation  we  cannot  hear  his  whole  performance,  for  the 
noise  of  the  stream  prevents  it ;  but  in  the  lulls  of  the 
strife  we  catch  parts  of  his  melody,  sounding  low  and 
sweet,  as  though  the  Naiads  of  the  fall  were  singing  its 
praises  in  mellow  cadence. 

It  might  be  thought  that  the  Dipper  lives  in 
company  with  his  mate  for  life,  but  such  is  not  the  case ; 
and  when  the  young  are  independent  of  their  parents' 
aid,  the  old  birds  separate  for  ever.  The  nest  of  the 
Dipper  is  usually  found  amongst  the  rocks,  never  in  a 
tree  or  bush,  although  occasionally  amongst  their 
gnarled  and  moss-grown  roots.  The  nest  is  not  unfre- 
quently found  within  a  few  inches  of  the  water,  and  oc- 
casionally in  the  rocks  over  which  the  water  rushes  in 
mad  career,  passing  directly  before  the  nest,  and  keeping 
it  in  an  incessant  state  of  moisture  by  the  spray  continu- 
ally beating  against  it.  The  nest  of  the  Dipper  in  point 
of  outward  beauty  yields  the  palm  to  few,  if  any,  of  our 
British  nests.  True,  the  Chaffinch  and  the  Long-tailed 
Titmouse  may  build  a  nest  the  paragon  of  beauty,  but 
the  materials  used  die  and  wither  ;  but  with  the  Dipper 
the  case  is  far  different,  as  will  be  seen  by  what  follows. 
The  site  chosen,  the  materials  have  not  far  to  be  sought. 


THE  DIPPER.  61 


The  moss  which  grows  in  wild  profusion  all  around  is 
selected,  and  the  outside  of  the  nest,  at  least,  is  com- 
posed entirely  of  this  soft  and  beautiful  material.  In 
form  it  is  precisely  like  the  nest  of  the  'Wren,  spherical, 
with  a  hole  in  the  side  to  admit  the  birds.  The  inside 
of  the  nest  is  lined  with  dry  grass,  moss,  and  withered 
leaves,  but  very  rarely  feathers.  Mimicry  is  the  pro- 
tective art  employed  by  the  Dipper  in  shielding  her 
nest  from  danger,  and  most  effectually  are  her  wiles 
displayed.  The  moss  with  which  her  nest  is  made 
never  dies — the  humidity  of  the  nesting-site  prevents 
this — and  her  home  is  literally  nothing  more  than  a  cave 
whose  walls  are  full  of  life  and  verdant  beauty.  Keen 
and  perceiving  must  be  the  eyes  of  him  who  can,  at  a 
casual  glance,  discern  the  home  of  the  Dipper  when 
placed  amongst  the  moss-grown  rocks,  for  it  presents- an 
appearance  unvarying  from  the  emerald  hues  of  the 
surroundings.  The  eggs  of  the  Dipper  are  four  or  five 
in  number,  and  entirely  different  from  the  eggs  of  any 
other  British  Thrush.  They  are  pure  white  and  spot- 
less, and  about  the  size  of  a  Song-thrush's  egg.  The 
shell,  however,  does  not  possess  any  gloss,  as  is  the  case 
with  the  eggs  of  the  Kingfisher  and  Woodpecker,  and  is 
somewhat  rough  in  texture.  The  old  birds  display  great 
caution  in  returning  to  and  quitting  the  nest,  and  should 
you  discover  it,  they  manifest  little  or  no  outward  signs 
of  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  their  treasure. 

It  is  with  the  utmost  caution  you  must  approach  the 
Dipper  if  you  are  desirous  of  watching  his  actions,  for  a 
shy  and  wary  bird  is  he.  However,  ample  means  of 
concealment  are  at  hand,  and  by  hiding  behind  one  of 
the  rocky  boulders,  and  keeping  quiet  and  motionless, 
you  may  observe  him  as  long  as  his  restless  nature 
allows  him  to  remain  in  your  company.  You  may  hap 


62  _  RURAL  BIRD   LIFE. 

see  him  at  first  perched  on  a  stone  projecting  out  of  the 
water  a  few  inches,  or  it  may  be  standing  in  the  water 
itself.  Warily  he  looks  around,  now  crouching  low,  as  if 
fearful  of  discovery  ;  now  erect,  as  if  on  the  point  of 
taking  wing.  Now  he  fearlessly  enters  the  water,  and 
aided  by  his  wings  floats  buoyantly  to  land,  where  you 
see  him  running  and  hopping  about,  picking  up  the  small 
animal  substances  found  amongst  the  marshy  shores  of 
the  stream.  Then  he  will  sit  for  a  few  moments  on  the 
bank,  motionless  as  a  statue,  and  you  cannot  help  ad- 
miring the  purity  of  his  plumage,  white  as  the  driven 
snow.  Suddenly,  and  doubtless  to  your  surprise,  if  you 
are  unacquainted  with  his  habits,  he  takes  to  the  water 
and  disappears  under  the  surface.  Is  he  in  distress  ? 
mayhap  drowning  ?  Neither  one  nor  the  other.  Aided 
by  his  wings  and  feet  you  see  him  explore  the-  sand  and 
mossgrown  pebbles  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool,  and  turn- 
ing the  little  stones  with  his  bill,  for  the  various  water 
insects  which  constitute  his  food  ;  perhaps  going  a  yard 
or  more,  and  then  rising  to  the  surface  for  breath  ;  then 
down  again  for  another  short  distance,  then  rising  as 
before  He  will  proceed  thus  for  a  certain  length  of  the 
water,  then  return — sometimes  swimming  aided  by  his 
wings,  and  sometimes  darting  under  the  surface,  oc- 
casionally pausing  to  rest  for  a  moment  on  the  rocks 
projecting  from  the  water — to  the  point  of  his  departure, 
when  he  will  again  visit  the  bank  and  course  up  and 
down  or  sit  motionless.  Well  may  the  bird  fill  the  be- 
holder with  wonderment  at  its  aquatic  motions  ;  for  if  a 
Grebe  or  a  Diver  were  gambolling  in  the  water  before  him 
lie  could  not  expect  a  more  able  performance.  You 
find,  as  a  rule,  the  Dipper  explores  those  parts  of  the 
stream  for  food  where  the  water  is  less  troubled  ;  yet  he 
will  not  unfrequently  dash  boldly  into  the  boiling  stream 


THE  DIPPER.  63 


just  below  the  falls,  and  course  about  for  very  sport  and 
joyfulness.  The  sandy  islets  in  the  stream  and  places 
where  drift-wood  and  other  matters  congregate  are 
favourite  places ;  so  too  below  the  weirs  and  about  the 
water-wheels  he  is  also  seen.  When  alarmed,  the 
Dipper  instantly  takes  wing.  I  have  never  yet  known 
a  Dipper  take  to  the  water  when  threatened  by  danger, 
nor  do  I  consider  that  such  is  the  case  u'nless  the 
bird  be  injured.  His  flight  puts  you  in  mind  of  the 
Kingfisher,  rapid  and  straightforward  ;  sometimes  he 
flies  just  above  the  surface  of  the  water,  sometimes  a 
few  feet  above  it  and  invariably  following  the  course  of 
the  stream.  He  often  utters  a  low  and  complaining 
chirp  when  taking  wing,  and  he  will  also  call  when 
sitting  on  the  rocks  and  banks.  Summer  and  winter 
alike  he  explores  the  waters,  and  at  all  times  draws  his 
largest  sustenance  from  the  bed  of  the  stream.  The 
Kingfisher's  plunge  is  but  a  momentary  immersion,  but 
with  the  Dipper  it  is  far  different.  He  will  not  un- 
frequently  remain  in  the  water  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
or  more  without  once  quitting  it.  The  food  of  the 
Dipper  is  composed  of  the  various  forms  of  insect  life 
inhabiting  the  waters,  and  their  larvae.  Young  fish  he 
will  also  devour,  and  worms  and  grubs  found  on  the 
banks  of  the  stream. 

A  word  as  to  this  singular  bird's  place  in  our  classi- 
fication. Were  you  to  examine  the  Dipper  you  would 
find  his  plumage  similar  to  the  plumage  of  water  birds 
in  general,  yet  his  feet  are  not  webbed,  and  do  not 
resemble  the  feet  of  water  birds,  nor  does  his  beak  and 
general  appearance  proclaim  him  as  one  whose  haunt  is 
'the  waters.  Notwithstanding,  the  bird,  however,  has,  I 
think,  far  more  claim  to  be  ranked  amongst  the  water 
birds  than  those  frequenting  the  land  ;  he  is,  in  fact,  what 


64  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

we  might  call  midway  between  them,  and  instead  of  dis- 
tinguishing him  by  the  somewhat  vague  name  of '  Dipper,' 
some  more  fitting  title  should  be  bestowed  upon  him, 
and  a  place  assigned  to  him  in  our  classification  more  in 
harmony  with  his  ways  of  life. 


THE  HEDGE  ACCENTOR. 

THE  Hedge  Sparrow,  or  Hedge  Accentor,  for  he  is  not 
a  Sparrow  at  all,  though  certainly  he  bears  a  distant  resem- 
blance to  one,  is  another  little  soft-billed  chorister  who 
permanently  resides  in  Britain.  He  shares  the  hedge- 
rows with  the  Robin,  and  frequents  the  tangled  brakes 
and  thickets  with  the  Wren.  We  see  him  hopping 
amongst  the  heaps  of  wood  in  the  farmyard,  uttering  his 
low  and  plaintive  call  notes,  and  amongst  the  ever- 
greens in  the  shubbery  he  is  often  seen,  especially  at 
nightfall.  A  quiet  and  unobtrusive  little  creature  he  is, 
and  his  low  and  plaintive  music,  resembling  the  song  of 
the  Wren,  only  nothing  near  so  loud,  is  heard  at  all  times 
of  the  year,  provided  he  can  obtain  sufficient  shelter  from 
the  elements. 

The  Hedge  Accentor  appears  to  love  retirement,  even 


66  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

more  so  than  the  Wren,  and  his  only  aim  when  disturbed 
is  to  seek  safety  in  seclusion.  He  but  rarely  takes  to 
flight  when  alarmed,  preferring  to  creep  and  hop  with 
amazing  rapidity  up  the  hedgerows,  silently  as  a  shadow. 
If  you  see  him  amongst  a  heap  of  hedge  clippings  or  old 
timber,  your  glimpse  of  him  is  but  brief,  and  he  takes 
shelter  in  the  thickest  parts  of  the  cover,  where  his  sober 
plumage  is  in  harmony  with  the  dusky  shadows  of  his 
retreat.  Again,  you  seldom,  very  seldom,  see  the  birds 
otherwise  than  solitary,  save  in  the  pairing  and. breeding 
seasons.  The  Hedge  Accentor's  claim  as  a  perennial 
songster  is  but  a  slight  one.  If  the  situation  of  his 
haunt  is  bare  and  exposed  he  is  seldom  heard  to  sing  in 
the  inclement  season  of  the  year.  It  is  only  amongst  the 
evergreens  that  his  melody,  as  a  rule,  is  heard  in  the  winter 
months,  and  even  there  it  is  by  no  means  so  freely  uttered 
or  so  often  heard  as  the  tuneful  warblings  of  the  Robin 
and  Wren.  The  song  of  the  Hedge  Accentor  is  a  plain- 
tive one,  and  something  similar  to  that  of  the  Wren, 
only  not  so  loud  and  not  of  such  long  duration.  Its  low 
and  plaintive  character  probably  saves  it  from  being 
classed  as  monotonous,  for  without  those  characteristics  it 
would  indeed  be  but  a  poor  performance.  It  is  when  sing- 
ing that  we  have  a  good  opportunity  of  observing  this 
unobtrusive  little  creature  ;  for  when  so  engaged  he  will 
often  mount  the  topmost  branches  of  the  trees  or  hedge- 
rows, and  gladden  the  air  around  with  his  short  and 
plaintive  song.  The  Hedge  Accentor  sings  in  those  dis- 
tricts where  he  is  well  sheltered  from  the  beginning  of 
October  right  away  through  the  winter.  Then  the 
genial  spring  calls  them  all  into  song,  and  they  sing  in- 
cessantly until  the  middle  of  July,  when  their  notes  are 
lost  in  the  autumnal  moult.  The  call  notes  are  low  and 


THE  HEDGE  ACCENTOR.  67 

complaining,  and  uttered  most  frequently  at  eventide  or 
early  in  the  morning. 

We  are  apt  to  think  that  the  pairing  of  annual  birds 
takes  place  just  prior  to  nesting  duties,  yet  this  in  some 
cases,  at  least,  is  not  correct.  .From  what  I  have  ob- 
served of  the  habits  of  the  Hedge  Accentor  I  am  led  to 
believe  that  it  pairs  about,  or  soon  after,  the  winter 
solstice.  About  that  period  I  see  the  Hedge  Accentors 
congregate  in  little  parties  of  perhaps  five  and  six 
individuals — a  circumstance,  by  the  way,  never  observed 
in  this  species  save  at  mating  time.  The  birds  are  also 
unusually  clamorous,  and  at  times  pugnacious,  chasing 
each  other  through  the  leafless  hedgerows  with  every 
sign  of  anger.  These  motions  are  but  of  short  duration, 
and  then  I  see  the  Hedge  Accentors  invariably  in  pairs 
right  up  to  the  nesting  season  in  April.  This  is~only 
one  instance,  yet  I  feel  convinced  that  when  the  matter 
is  more  generally  studied,  fresh  instances  occurring  in 
other  species  will  be  brought  to  view. 

It  is  just  as  the  hawthorn  hedges  begin  to  assume 
their  first  signs  of  verdure,  by  the  myriads  of  opening 
buds  clothing  them  in  a  tinge  of  the  brightest  green, 
that  the  Hedge  Accentor  commences  her  unassuming 
little  home.  In  the  hedgerows,  or  amongst  brambles 
covered  with  tall  grasses,  frequently  in  a  heap  of  hedge 
clippings,  or  in  the  branches  of  the  evergreen,  we  find 
the  first  nests  in  course  of  completion.  The  Hedge 
Accentor's  nest,  like  the  bird,  has  nothing  particularly 
striking  in  its  appearance,  yet  withal  it  is  a  handsome 
little  structure  — beautiful  in  its  simplicity — composed 
in  the  first  place  of  the  greenest  moss  and  twigs,  with 
mayhap  a  few  bents  and  fine  straws,  cemented  with  cob- 
webs, and  the  inner  part  lined  with  a  thick  and  warm 
lining  of  hair,  feathers,  and  wool.  The  eggs  of  the 

F  2 


68  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


Hedge  Accentor  are  almost  unique  in  beauty  too,  their 
clear  and  spotless  blue  defying  the  painter's  every  art  to 
produce,  and  contrasting  richly  with  the  sober  colours  of 
the  nest.  They  are  from  four  to  six  in  number,  and  vary 
little  in  size.  The  Hedge  Accentor  is  another  of  those 
birds  who  continue  laying  if  you  remove  the  eggs  from 
time  to  time,  even  depositing  them  on  what  little 
materials  chance  to  remain  after  removing  the  nest. 
This  bird  will  rear  as  many  as  three  broods  in  the  year. 
I  have  found  their  unfinished  nests  late  in  July,  and  seen 
the  eggs  in  April.  The  Hedge  Accentor  will  hatch  the 
eggs  of  other  birds  and  tend  the  young  with  as  much 
care  and  attention  as  her  own.  It  is  the  nest  of  the 
Hedge  Accentor  that  the  Cuckoo  so  frequently  uses  as 
the  receptacle  for  her  egg,  and  the  old  Hedge  Accentors 
prove  careful  and  attentive  parents.  Mimicry  in  part 
forms  the  protective  power  of  the  Hedge  Accentor  ;  the 
sitting  bird  will  also  display  a  silent  protective  power, 
and  remain  brooding  over  the  eggs  or  callow  young 
until  absolutely  compelled  to  quit  them. 

There  is  not  a  more  harmless  bird  tenants  the  woods 
and  fields  than  this  active  little  creature,  yet  I  fear  its 
harmlessness  is  not  its  shield.  Its  food  in  summer  time 
is  almost  exclusively  composed  of  small  worms  and 
insects  and  their  larvae,  and  in  the  autumn  months  it 
will  eat  various  small  seeds.  In  the  winter  time,  when 
insect  life  is  scarce,  and  the  worms  deep  in  the  hard 
frozen  ground,  the  Hedge  Accentor,  in  company  with  the 
Sparrows,  frequents  the  farmyards  and  manure  heaps, 
and  obtains  the  greater  part  of  its  food  on  the  ground. 
They  will  also  approach  our  doorsteps  in  company  with 
the  Robin,  and  subsist  upon  our  bounty,  picking  up  the 
crumbs,  and  rewarding  us  with  their  active  motions  and 
short  and  pleasing  song. 


THE   HEDGE  ACCENTOR.  69 

The  Hedge  Accentor's  permanent  sojourn  in  Britain 
is  another  of  the  as  yet  unsolved  problems  in  ornithology. 
How  can  we  explain  the  fact  that,  of  all  the.  army  of  insect- 
feeding  birds  that  quit  our  shores  as  the  sun  proceeds  on 
his  journey  to  the  southern  tropic,  this  little  insect-feed- 
ing bird  remains,  and  braves  the  northern  blasts  with 
impunity,  and  varies  his  diet  accordingly.  We  see  him 
as  active  amongst  the  leafless  twigs  or  withered  leaves 
as  when  those  twigs  were  clothed  in  verdure,  and  when 
those  same  leaves  were  full  of  life  and  vigour.  We  see 
him  scatter  the  snow  from  the  sprays  of  the  evergreen 
when  he  seeks  repose  at  nightfall  among  its  verdant 
branches,  and  appear  as  strong  and  healthy  as  in  the 
height  of  summer,  but  we  cannot  explain  it.  The  secret 
is  still  in  Nature's  keeping,  and  all  our  attempts  to  eluci- 
date it,  our  theories  and  conjectures,  are  at  present  all  in 
vain. 


THE  ROBIN. 

OF  all  birds  which  enjoy  any  protection  from  man, 
perhaps  the  Robin  is  most  prominent.  His  bright 
colours  and  sprightly  actions,  together  with  the  sundry 
nursery  tales  in  which  he  is  favourably  mentioned,  con- 
duce greatly  to  place  him  in  more  security  than  his 
congeners.  Unlike  most  other  soft-billed  birds,  the 
Robin  remains  with  us  throughout  the  year :  he  lends  a 
charm  to  the  wintry  landscape,  and  in  summer  graces 
the  smiling  face  of  nature  with  his  presence.  He  is 
also  one  of  our  few  perennial  musicians,  his  song  being 
heard  the  year  throughout.  We  find  the  Robin  close  to 
our  habitations  ;  in  the  most  secluded  haunts  of  the 
deepest  woods,  far  from  the  busy  hum  of  men ;  in  the 
farmyard,  the  field,  and  garden,  the  plantation  and 
shubbery,  the  country  lane  and  shaded  clell,  and  by  the 
side  of  the  murmuring  rivulet.  In  all  these  situations 


THE  ROBIN.  71 


his  habits  may  be  observed  at  all  seasons  :  he  is  not  shy, 
and  his  sharp  notes  will  be  heard  soon  after  you  enter 
his  haunt.  If  we  tarry  long  in  one  situation,  be  it  the 
wood,  coppice,  field,  or  garden,  the  Robin  is  almost  sure 
to  visit  us,  and,  provided  we  remain  quiet,  and  it  is  not 
the  moulting  season,  approach  closely  and  pour  out  his 
rich  and  plaintive  song. 

There  is  not  a  songster  in  Great  Britain,  no,  not  even 
the  sweet  Nightingale  himself,  that  possesses  a  song  so 
rich  and  plaintive  as  this  little  red-breasted  chorister. 
So  plaintive  are  some  of  his  notes,  that  they  border  on 
sadness,  and  never  fail  to  fill  the  lover  of  animated 
nature  with  ecstasy,  as  they  pour,  O  so  sweet,  from  his 
little  throat.  His  song  cannot  fail  to  awaken  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  even  in  the  casual  observer — cannot  fail  to  con- 
vince him  of  the  trustful  familiarity  displayed  in  his 
various  motions.  He  will  approach  you  closely,  and 
pour  out  his  sweet  song  within  a  few  feet  of  your  head, 
or  perched  up  in  the  spreading  branches  of  the  stately 
oak  under  which  you  are  standing,  his  flaming  breast 
contrasting  beautifully  with  the  sober  tints  of  the  lugged 
bark,  and  his  bright  eyes  looking  trustfully  at  you,  he 
will  greet  you  with  his  melody.  The  Robin  daily  visits 
the  same  perching-place  to  sing  his  evening  song,  and 
strictly  guards  it  from  any  intrusion.  Here  every  even- 
ing in  the  cheerless  month  of  November  a  Robin  comes 
and  sits  upon  the  topmost  branches  of  a  mulberry  tree 
and  gives  forth  his  even-song  ;  while  another  comes 
nightly  to  perch  on  a  stick  projecting  from  a  haystack  ; 
and  a  third  chooses  as  his  perching-place  a  heap  of 
timber  in  a  farmyard.  Very  often  two  Robins  may  be 
heard  singing  in  concert.  First  one  will  pour  forth  his 
loudest  and  clearest  tones,  his  little  throat  swelling  with 
the  exertion  ;  then  the  other  stationed  near  at  hand  will 


72  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

strive  if  possible  to  excel  its  opponent  in  the  superiority 
of  its  song.  I  have  heard  these  birds  when  so  engaged 
in  these  contests  commence  in  such  high  notes,  that  to 
complete  the  full  song  was  impossible.  And  thus  the 
concert  proceeds,  until  one  of  the  actors  will  eventually 
sing  its  opponent  out  of  the  contest,  when  it  will  utter  a 
few  notes,  as  if  of  challenge,  and,  if  not  answered,  drop 
silently  down  into  the  underwood.  The  Robin  is  one  of 
the  first  birds  to  greet  the  coming  dawn  with  his  notes, 
and  also  one  of  the  last,  if  not  the  last,  to  retire  in  the 
evening.  It  is  at  these  times  the  Robin  is  most  lively, 
and  his  notes  are  often  heard  when  their  author  can- 
not be  seen  amongst  the  falling  shadows  of  night. 

In  the  moulting  season  the  Robin  is  but  seen  occa- 
sionally, and  never  heard  to  sing  ;  the  young  birds  are 
the  most  frequently  seen,  and  it  is  their  sharp  call  no^.es 
we  most  frequently  hear.  Our  other  songsters,  with  few 
exceptions,  lose  their  song  in  the  autumnal  moult  :  not 
so  the  Robin  ;  for  after  this  important  season  is  passed, 
which  takes  place  in  July,  the  Robin  regains  his  notes, 
to  continue  them  throughout  the  winter.  First  we  hear 
them  singing  in  very  small  numbers,  but  as  August 
passes  away  these  numbers  increase,  and  when  Septem- 
ber arrives  they  are-in  full  song  once  more  ;  and  perhaps 
there  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  all  animated  nature 
at  this  season  of  the  year  than  the  evening  song  of  this 
pretty  warbler  when  given  forth  in  the  dusk  of  a  Sep- 
tember evening.  The  autumnal  fog  is  creeping  up  the 
valley  ;  the  Bat,  with  squeaking  notes,  darts  round  the  tall 
elm  trees,  taking  the  place  of  the  day-flying  Swallow  ; 
the  Starling  has  repaired  to  his  roosting-place,  the  Thrush 
and  Blackbird  are  at  rest ;  the  solemn  stillness  of  the 
woods  is  perhaps  broken  by  the  drowsy  hum  of  a  noc- 
turnal beetle  or  the  lowing  of  the  cattle  in  a  neighbour- 


THE  ROBIN.  73 


ing  meadow.  Among  all  this  stillness  the  Robin  pours 
forth  his  evening  notes,  which  sound  peaceful  and  plain- 
tive in  the  extreme.  He  will  keep  up  his  song  until 
darkness  has  fairly  set  in,  and  unerring  instinct  leads 
him  to  his  roosting-place,  when  his  voice,  which  has 
hitherto  helped  to  swell  the  concert  of  Robin-music, 
will  cease,  and  all  the  voices  of  the  birds  of  day  are 
silent,  and  their  authors  lulled  in  tranquil  repose. 

The  call  notes  of  the  Robin  are  sharp  and  clear, 
and  sometimes  startle  us  with  their  nearness  ;  for  on 
looking  round  we  often  find  the  author  of  them 
daintily  perched  on  some  post,  or  in  the  shrub  near 
which  we  are  standing.  If  you  observe  him  closely,  he 
will  almost  invariably  be  found  to  accompany  those  call 
notes  with  a  peculiar  jerking  motion  of  the  head  and 
tail.  The  call  note  in  the  breeding  season  is  a  plaintive 
piping  one,  monotonously  given  forth  every  few 
moments. 

Robins  are  not  of  a  wandering  disposition,  and  re- 
main in  their  respective  haunts  until  perhaps  driven 
forth  by  hunger,  '  necessity's  supreme  command.'  I  have 
known  this  bird  remain  in  one  certain  locality  for  many 
months,  and  never  saw  him  more  than  fifty  yards  away 
from  his  favourite  haunt  in  the  secluded  and  marshy 
corner  of  a  plantation.  I  identified  the  bird  by  a  greyish 
white  ring  of  feathers  round  the  neck,  and  could  always 
observe  him  when  strolling  through  his  haunt.  In  the 
breeding  season  he  reared  a  brood  in  safety  ;  but  after 
the  autumnal  moult  he  lost  this  peculiar  mark,  and  is 
now  in  appearance  like  his  congeners,  but  no  doubt 
there  he  will  remain,  if  left  unmolested,  for  years  yet  to 
come. 

Robins  do  not  pair  for  life,  and  early  in  March  the 
birds  seek  out  mates.  Combats  often  occur  between 


74  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


rival  males  at  this  season  ;  indeed,  at  all  times  the  Robin 
is  more  or  less  a  pugnacious  bird.  Upon  one  occasion 
I  was  strolling  through  a  dense  shrubbery,  under  the 
gloomy  yew  trees,  when  I  heard  a  flutter  amongst  the 
withered  leaves  on  the  banks  of  a  tiny  rivulet  flowing 
down  a  ravine.  Closer  inspection  revealed  a  bird 
struggling  in  the  water,  and  I  went  down  the  bank  to 
find  out  the  cause  of  this  strange  proceeding,  and  found 
a  Robin  tangled,  as  it  appeared,  in  the  herbage  growing 
on  the  water's  edge.  I  took  hold  of  the  bird,  with  the 
intention  of  releasing  it  from  its  captivity,  and  was 
about  to  lift  it  up,  when,  judge  of  my  surprise,  I  pulled 
out  from  under  the  bank  a  second  Robin,  that  had 
evidently,  when  conquered,  tried  to  seek  safety  by 
squeezing  under  the  bank,  also  in  the  water  too.  Both 
birds,  like  two  warriors  bold,  were  locked  in  deadly 
embrace,  the  one  first  seen  being  entangled  in  the 
breast  feathers  of  its  antagonist  by  its  claws  ;  their 
plumage,  too,  was  all  wet  and  ragged,  and  they  had 
lost  many  feathers.  After  keeping  them  for  a  short 
time  I  restored  them  to  liberty :  the  victorious  one,  I 
should  say,  flew  quickly  off,  while  its  terribly  exhausted 
antagonist  just  managed  to  gain  a  thick  bush  and  was 
soon  lost  to  view. 

The  site  of  the  Robin's  nest  is  varied.  Old  walls, 
amongst  the  tangled  roots  of  trees,  under  banks,  and  on 
their  verdant  sides,  also  amongst  ivy,  are  all  suitable 
places  to  look  for  his  abode.  Robins  will  often  choose 
very  singular  sites  for  their  nests.  An  old  watering-can, 
dilapidated  and  rust-eaten,  once  lay  in  a  sunk  fence, 
several  inches  deep  in  withered  leaves.  In  the  interior 
of  this  can  a  pair  of  Robins  made  their  abode,  and 
the  female  bird  laid  two  eggs,  which,  unfortunately, 
were  taken,  and  all  the  hopes  of  the  little  choristers 


THE  ROBIN.  75 


destroyed.     The  Robins,  if  their  nest  be  on  the  ground, 
first  scratch  a  hole  as  a  foundation  for  future  operations  ; 
then  of  moss,  dry  grass,  and  withered  leaves,  they  form  a 
well-made  nest,  and  line  it  with  a  large  quantity  of  horse 
or  cow-hair,  and   but  rarely  indeed   with  any  feathers. 
Dead  leaves  are  always  found  in  the  materials  of  the 
Robin's  nest,  and  the  front  of  the  nest  is  invariably  one 
mass  cf  these  remnants  of  autumn's   mellow  days  :  oak 
leaves,  as  a  rule,  are  the  ones  selected.     Mimicry  is   the 
Robin's  general  form  of  protective  instinct  as  regards  the 
safety  of  its  eggs  and   young,  and  he  who  finds  the 
Robin's    nest,    unassuming    and  simple,    yet    beautiful 
in  the  extreme,  will  admire  the  protective  arts  of  the 
little  builders,  and,  if  he  has  not  discovered   it  by  acci- 
dent, regard  with  pleasure  the  effectiveness  of  their  de- 
signs.    The  eggs  of  the   Robin   are  four,  five,  six^and 
even  eight  in  number,  and,  as  a  rule,  all   prove  fertile. 
They  vary  considerably  in  colouring  matter  even   in  the 
same  nest.     The  most  common  variety  is  dirty-white   in 
ground  colour,  freckled,  and  spotted  with  pale  reddish- 
brown  and  gray  markings,  so  closely  as  to  almost  con 
ceal  the  ground   colour  of  the  egg.     Other  specimens 
are  more  sparsely  coloured  ;  others  of  a  purer  ground 
colour,  with  a  zone  of  spots  round  the  larger  end ;  while 
yet  again  specimens  are  sometimes   found  pure  white, 
and  entirelydevoid  of  markings.     The  Robin  is  a  close 
sitter,  and,  provided  you   exercise  a  little  caution,  you 
may   often   have   the    pleasure  of  gently  stroking  the 
sitting  bird,  without  any  alarm  for  the  little  creature  for- 
saking its  charge. 

The  Robin  abandons  its  young  very  soon  after  they 
leave  the  nest,  and  we  often  see  the  little  things  flutter- 
ing about  from  bush  to  bush,  but  not  able  to  fly  for  any 
considerable  distance.  Helpless  indeed  they  are,  though 


76  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


not  wanting  in  means  for  self-preservation,  as  will  be 
seen  by  what  follows.  I  on  one  occasion  flushed  a 
young  Robin  scarcely  able  to  fly.  The  bird  fluttered 
through  some  dense  herbage,  and  nestled  closely  under 
the  roots  of  a  hazel  bush.  Wishing  to  test  its  protec- 
tive powers  to  the  utmost,  I  first  dislodged  the  herbage, 
and  then  commenced  a  diligent  search,  finding  the  little 
'  robinet '  lying  closely  in  a  little  cranny,  its  bright  eye 
looking  anxiously  around.  It  made  no  effort  to  escape, 
and  suffered  me  to  take  it  in  my  hand,  and  examine  it 
minutely.  I  returned  it  to  its  native  bushes,  and 
pondered  deeply  over  the  instinct  for  self-preservation 
existing  in  this  little  songster,  in  common  with  many 
other  birds,  notwithstanding  their  infancy,  and  which,  as 
far  as  I  can  determine,  is  never  known  to  occur  in 
mature  birds,  unless  when  sickly  or  wounded.  Thus  it 
would  seem  that  this  form  of  protective  power  is  only 
put  in  force  when  the  bird  is  in  a  weak  or  helpless  con- 
dition. Young  Robins  in  the  colouring  of  their  plumage 
differ  greatly  from  their  parents.  But  in  their  sprightly 
actions  they  still  show,  despite  their  dingy  garb,  that 
they  are  Robins,  and  in  their  call  notes  they  seem  to  tell 
us  that  in  a  few  short  months  they  will  don  the  chaste 
and  beautiful  garb  of  their  parents. 

The  Robin  lives  on  insects  and  worms,  and  in  the 
winter  months,  if  the  weather  be  severe,  numbers  of 
these  charming  songsters  perish  from  cold  and  hunger. 
He  visits  man's  habitation,  too,  and  regales  himself  on 
the  crumbs  scattered  by  the  thoughtful  person  for  the 
poor  birds  in  the  cold  and  dreary  winter  time.  He  is  a 
regular  little  tyrant,  and  but  few  birds  venture  near  until 
he  is  satisfied.  I  know  of  few  things  more  beautiful, 
when  the  snow  enshrouds  everything  in  a  wreath  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  than  a  Robin  perched  on  a  snow- 


THE  ROBIN.  77 

clad  rail,  or  far  up  in  the  frosted  branches,  pouring  forth 
his  lovely  song.  As  he  sits,  his  feathers  all  ruffled,  his 
bright  red  breast  and  large  and  trustful  eyes  contrasting 
richly  with  the  surroundings,  he  is,  indeed,  really  a 
beautiful  object ;  and  no  wonder  that  he  elicits  admiration 
from  all,  even  from  the  wandering  gunner  or  birds'-nest- 
ing  schoolboy,  for  the  one  will  not  point  his  gun  know- 
ingly at  a  Robin,  or  the  other  think  of  plundering  his 
nest 


78  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


THE  REDSTART. 

FLITTING  uneasily  before  us,  as  we  wander  down  the 
lanes  or  through  the  birch  coppices,  we  often  see  a  gaily 
dressed  little  bird,  occasionally  uttering  a  wild  and  pleas^ 
ing  song.  As  he  flies,  his  rich  black  and  white  plumage 
glistens  in  the  light,  and  his  chestnut  tail  appears  as  a 
dull  streak  of  fire.  Ah,  then,  the  secret's  out :  this  gay 
little  bird  is  the  '  Firetail,'  or,  more  learnedly  speaking, 
the  Redstart,  met  with  so  commonly  in  summer  time 
in  every  lane,  wood,  and  coppice. 

He  arrives  here  by  the  second  week  in  April,  the 
females  a  few  days  later,  and  that  is  the  time  to  hear 
him  sing  his  best ;  for  the  song  with  which  he  invites  a 
mate  is  perhaps  more  rich  and  full  of  energy  than  his 
summer  melody.  The  song  puts  you  in  mind  of  the 
Wren's  loud  and  varied  notes,  yet  it  wants  their  vigour 
and  sprightliness,  and  is  somewhat  monotonous.  We 
often  see  him  just  after  his  arrival  perched  right  up  the 
oak's  tallest  branches,  and  as  he  sits  and  warbles  his  oft 
repeated  strains,  he  appears  so  rich  and  gorgeous  in  his 
nuptial  garb,  as  it  shines  and  glistens  in  the  bright  April 
sunlight,  that  he  seems  to  have  borrowed  a  few  of  the 
glorious  plumes  of  some  feathered  gem  of  the  tropics, 
whilst  spending  his  winter  amongst  them. 

Those  places  most  favoured  with  the  Redstart's 
presence  are  woods  abounding  with  old  and  decayed 
timber— the  birch  woods  are  a  favourite  place — or  in  the 


THE   REDSTART.  79 


neighbourhood  of  old  walls,  on  which  he  is  constantly 
alighting,  to  jerk  his  tail  with  regular  beats,  and  view 
you  with  alarm  as  you  wander  on. 

May  is  the  Redstart's  nesting  season.  We  must  not 
seek  his  nest  amongst  the  branches,  nor  yet  amidst 
the  brambles  or  vegetation  on  the  ground,  but  always  in 
some  hole  well  protected  from  the  external  air :  holes  in 
walls  and  trees  are  as  a  rule  selected.  The  Woodpecker, 
if  the  selected  nesting-hole  is  not  quite  suitable,  alters  it 
accordingly  ;  or,  if  holes  be  scarce,  ofttimes  making  one 
herself  with  her  strong  beak,  but  the  Redstart  does  no 
such  thing.  The  graceful  birch  tree  or  mountain  ash 
very  often  affords  a  nesting-hole  ;  while  in  the  old  walls 
nesting-sites  occur  in  abundance,  sometimes  but  a  few 
inches  in  depth  at  others  several  feet  :  it  matters  little. 
The  nest  itself  is  a  very  slovenly  piece  of  workmanship, 
so  loosely  made  in  most  cases,  as  to  make  it  impossible 
to  remove  it  entire,  yet  it  serves  the  purpose  intended 
most  admirably.  It  is  made  of  dry  grass,  moss,  some- 
times a  little  wool,  and  lined  with  hair  and  feathers. 
The  eggs  are  often  six  in  number,  though  four  or  five 
are  most  frequently  found,  and  about  the  size  of  the 
Hedge  Accentor's,  and,  like  them,  blue  and  spotless  ;  but 
they  are  not  so  deeply  coloured,  and  much  more  polished, 
and  the  shell,  too,  is  more  fragile  than  the  eggs  of  that 
bird.  You  may  remove  the  eggs  of  the  Redstart,  and 
yet  she  will  continue  laying,  and  seldom  forsake  the 
nest.  The  same  remarks  will  apply  to  the  Starling ; 
but  this  is  not  the  case  with  most  birds,  for  if  their  eggs 
are  taken,  even  only  a  part  in  some  cases,  the  mother 
bird  is  sure  to  forsake  the  nest  and  remaining  eggs. 

All  birds  display  not  that  deep  feeling  and  anxiety 
for  their  eggs  as  for  their  young,  and  I  am  satisfied  in 
my  own  mind  that  the  loss  of  the  eggs  causes  not  half  so 


8o  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

much  grief  to  the  parent  birds  as  if  their  young  were 
taken  from  them.  If  you  approach  the  nest  of  the 
Redstart  when  it  contains  their  young,  the  birds  become 
very  anxious  for  their  welfare,  coursing  within  a  few  feet 
of  your  head,  uttering  their  mournful  call  notes,  which 
resemble  those  of  the  little  Willow  Warbler,  and  exhibit 
in  various  ways  the  keenest  anguish.  As  usual,  the 
female  bird,  with  the  intensity  of  a  mother's  love,  ap- 
proaches the  nearest,  and  with  hissing  cries  endeavours 
to  shield  her  offspring.  But  should  you  examine  her 
nest  when  the  eggs  are  newly  laid,  she  will  silently  leave 
it,  and  though  you  take  out  the  eggs  in  your  hand,  and 
remain  an  indefinite  time,  she  approaches  you  not,  nor 
displays  the  least  sign  of  affection  for  them. 

The  young  are  fed  entirely  on  insects,  and  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  but  one  brood  is  reared  in  the 
year,  although  if  the  first  set  of  eggs  is  removed  a 
fresh  set  will  be  laid.  One  or  two  of  the  eggs  sometimes 
prove  addled.  If  this  were  the  case  in  the  nest  of  a 
bird  built  in  the  open  air,  the  egg  would  most  probably 
be  ejected  ;  but  as  the  Redstart  rears  its  young  in  holes, 
the  addled  eggs  are  suffered  to  remain  in  the  nest,  and 
thrown  out  the  next  season,  should  the  little  owners 
return  to  their  abode  again. 

The  young  male  Redstarts  do  not  resemble  their 
brightly  clothed  sire  in  the  slightest  until  after  the 
moulting  season,  and  probably  even  then  their  garb  is  not 
perfection  until  the  following  breeding  season.  All  birds 
when,  moulting  seek  retirement,  as  if  aware  of  their 
helpless  condition.  The  Redstart  moults  in  July  and 
August,  and  during  that  period  we  seldom  see  them,  no, 
not  in  the  places  they  most  frequent,  until  a  short  time 
before  their  departure,  which  takes  place  very  early  in 
September. 


THE  REDSTART.  81 


It  appears  to  be  an  overlooked  fact  that  many  if  not 
all  the  male  warblers  leave  sometimes  a  week  or  more 
before  the  females,  and  return  in  the  same  manner  ;  yet 
how  to  account  for  this  strange  habit  I  am  at  a  total  loss. 
It  is  only  another  among  the  many  mysterious  actions 
of  the  feathered  tribe-  -mysterious  because  we  cannot 
understand  them  -  which  will,  I  fear,  only  be  solved  when 
the  birds  of  the  earth  regain  the  powers  of  speech  which 
in  Ovid's  time  they  were  said  to  possess. 

The  fluttering  motions  when  in  search  of  food  which 
more  particularly  mark  the  Flycatcher,  are,  however, 
common  to  many  if  not  all  insect-feeding  birds.  Thus 
we  see  the  Redstart  occasionally  in  the  air  catching 
insects,  by  the  way  its  chief  food,  or  fluttering  before  the 
trunks  of  trees  or  old  walls,  to  secure  the  vast  quantities 
of  insects  lurking  theie. 


WHEATEAR. 


THE  STONE  CHAT  AND    WHEATEAR. 

ON  the  wild  and  trackless  moors,  where  the  solitudes 
are  but  rarely  broken  save  by  the  harsh  cries  of  the 
Plover,  Grouse,  and  Curlew,  we  find  a  little  bird,  in  a 
garb  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  flitting  from  bush  to  bush, 
uttering  his  monotonous  note  of  wee  cJiic,  wcc  chic,  cJiic, 
chic,  chic,  while  his  mate  in  her  more  sober  plumage  sits 
apparently  motionless  on  a  tuft  of  heather  hard  by ;  but 
if  we  more  closely  observe  her  we  find  that  she  is  jerking 
her  tail  incessantly,  and  occasionally  looking  warily 
around,  for  these  little  birds  of  the  moor  but  seldom  see 


THE  STONECHAT  AND    WHEATEAR.  83 

the  face  of  man,  and  therefore  regard  his  advances  with 
suspicion. 

And  every  beast  before  him  ran, 
To  shun  the  hateful  sight  of  man. 

So  attached  are  the  little  creatures  to  their  particular 
haunt,  that  we  can  scarcely  drive  them  away  from  it. 
Wary  and  watchful,  it  is  true,  and  only  allowing  us  to 
approach  within  a  certain  distance,  yet  backwards  and 
forwards  they  fly,  passing  and  repassing  from  one  stunted 
bush  to  another,  perching  on  the  topmost  sprays,  or 
diving1  into  their  arboreal  shades,  and,  no  matter  how  we 

o 

harass  them,  seldom  if  ever  quitting  the  stretch  of  moor 
which  is  their  haunt  and  nesting-ground  combined. 

Many  persons  would  probably  feel  an  unavoidable 
sense  of  loneliness  creep  over  them  when  alone_in 
Nature's  wilds,  but  with  me  it  is  the  reverse,  especially 
when  the  feathered  company  I  love  is  flitting  from  spray 
to  spray  around  me.  Thus,  if  I  wander  over  the  seem- 
ingly interminable  moor,  though  a  feeling  of  nothing- 
ness captivate  me  as  I  gaze  upon  Nature  in  her  sublime 
grandeur  around,  still,  when  the  Red  Grouse  on  whirring 
wing  pursues  her  skimming  flight  afar,  or  the  gaily 
dressed  little  Stonechat,  the  bird  now  before  our  notice, 
flits  from  bush  to  bush  before  me  as  I  wander  on,  I  feel 
as  light-hearted  as  the  birds  themselves.  Mayhap  I 
stroll  into  the  woods  when  winter  holds  them  in  his 
tight  embrace,  when  the  evergreens  are  bowed  down  with 
a  snowy  covering,  and  icicles  hang  pendent  from  the 
naked  branches ;  still  no  lonely  feeling,  for  at  least  Cock- 
Robin  will  come  and  greet  me  with  a  song,  or  a  com- 
pany of  ever  active  Titmice  engage  my  attention  as  they 
wander  over  the  leafless  trees  and  shrubs.  If  in  autumn, 
that  season  of  all  others  best  adapted  to  make  a  thought- 
ful person  feel  sad  and  lonely,  as  the  winds  sigh  mourn- 


84  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

fully  through  the  semi-denuded  branches,  bringing  the 
leaves  down  in  showers,  and  speaking  of  death  and 
decay,  still  the  Wren  creeps  through  the  brambles,  whose 
leaves  are  now  painted  with  bewitching  colours,  souve- 
nirs of  the  waning  year.  Then,  too,  the  Stormcock  sings 
his  loudest,  and  the  rapidly  flying  Swallows  in  one  large 
company  claim  my  notice  ;  and  I  can  find  abundant  food 
for  thought  by  pondering  over  the  unerring  instinct 
which  leads  these  birds  to  leave  our  cold  and  dreary 
shores  long  before  the  northern  blasts  arrive.  No ;  he 
who  is  fond  of  animated  nature  will  never  feel  lonely 
when  in  Nature's  grand  domains,  for  she  has  lavished 
her  priceless  gifts  with  such  unsparing  hands,  that  on 
every  side  abundant  objects,  infinite  in  variety  and  pur- 
pose, claim  our  attention,  and  as  it  were  irresistibly  woo  us 
from  the  society  and  company  of  our  kindred. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods  ; 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore  ; 
There  is  society,  where  none  intrudes, 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar. 

But  to  return  to  our  little  Stonechat  flitting  hither 
and  thither  on  the  heathery  moor.  You  only  find  the 
Stonechat  on  the  moors,  or  in  the  large  furze  coverts  on 
their  outskirts.  He  is  not  what  you  may  call  common 
anywhere,  but  he  can  never  be  overlooked  by  the 
observer,  for  his  colouring  is  so  rich  and  varied,  and 
contrasts  richly  with  the  purple  heather's  bell -like 
'flowers  or  the  golden  blooms  of  the  gorse.  Then,  too, 
he  makes  himself  as  conspicuous  as  possible,  by  sitting 
on  the  topmost  sprays  of  the  surrounding  bushes.  He  is 
also  constantly  in  motion  the  instant  an  intruder 
appears,  and  is,  by  his  unceasing  activity  and  mono- 
tonous notes,  one  of  the  first  birds -noticed  when  we  set 
foot  on  the  springing  heather 


THE  STONECHAT  AND    WHEATEAR.  85 

Stonechats  pair  very  early  in  the  season  ;  indeed  it  is 
not  improbable  but  what  they  remain  in  pairs  the  year 
throughout,  as  we  see  them  in  pairs  at  all  times  of  the 
year  far  more  often  than  alone.  Their  nest — found  by 
the  way  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  especially  when 
situated  in  the  centre  of  a  large  patch  of  gorse  ;  dis- 
covery, except  by  the  merest  accident,  is  then  almost 
impossible — is  snugly  and  cleverly  concealed  at  the 
foot  of  some  furze  or  other  bush.  It  is  built  of  dried 
grasses  and  moss,  .and  lined  with  a  quantity  of  horse- 
hair and  feathers.  The  eggs,  four  or  five  in  number,  are 
pale  blue,  with  a  few  purplish-red  markings,  chiefly  on 
the  larger  end,  although  some  specimens  are  quite  plain. 
Deceptive  mofions  form  the  little  Stonechat's  protective 
power  which  she  displays  for  the  safety  and  concealment 
of  her  treasured  eggs  or  young  ;  and,  once  disturbed,  she 
will  tire  any  except  the  most  patient  observer  by  her 
deceiving  motions — flitting  from  bush  to  bush,  occasion- 
ally alighting  in  them,  as  though  about  to  visit  her  nest, 
which,  however,  is  probably  some  fifty  yards  away.  If 
her  nest  be  suddenly  approached,  silence,  another  pro- 
tective design,  will  be  manifested.  The  watchful  mother, 
still  and  silent  as  a  statue,  views  your  approach  and 
moves  not ;  but,  once  the  danger  gone,  we  find  both  her 
and  her  seldom  absent  mate  flitting  from  spray  to  spray, 
giving  forth  their  monotonous  notes  of  wee-chic,  chic- 
chic.  Stonechats  are  not  gregarious,  still  we  very  often 
find  several  pairs  living  close  together. 

The  Stonechat  lives  on  insects  and  their  larvae  :  you 
also  see  them  hunting  amongst  manure  for  small  worms 
and  beetles,  and  they  obtain  part  of  their  food  by  hover- 
ing in  the  air  like  the  Flycatcher.  The  song  of  the 
male  bird  is  a  short  and  wandering  performance,  yet 
fully  in  harmony  with  the  surrounding  landscape. 


86  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

The  Stonechat  is  amther  bird  whose  non-migratory 
habits  we  are  apt  to  view  with  surprise,  because  the 
cause  of  them  is  as  yet  unknown  to  us.  Now  the  Stone- 
chat,  as  far  as  we  are  aware,  differs  in  none  of  its  re- 
quirements from  its  congeners  the  Wheatear  and  Whin- 
chat,  yet  the  two  last  mentioned  species  leave  our 
country  annually  every  autumn,  to  spend  their  winter  in 
the  south.  Yet  the  little  Stonechat  remains  and  braves 
all  the  rigours  of  a  northern  winter.  I  see  them  on  the 
moors  when  the  snow  is  lying  deep,  or  skipping  about 
in  the  furze  coverts  in  December,  quite  as  nimbly  as  at 
the  summer  solstice.  Truly  indeed  have  we  much  to 
learn  in  the  habits  of  birds,  and  particularly  so  with 
regard  to  their  migrations,  ard  the  cause*  of  them. 

Still  keeping  to  the  moorland,  the  observer  will  often 
see  perched  on  the  rugged  walls  a  sprightly  bird  about 
the  size  of  a  lark,  when  in  motion  the  white  parts  of  its 
plumage  showing  out  very  plainly  :  this  is  the  Wheatear, 
known  also  as  the  Fallow  Chat.  Besides  inhabiting  the 
moors,  we  also  see  him  on  the  wild  upland  fallows  near 
them  :  commons  and  stone  quarries,  too,  if  in  wild 
districts,  are  also  frequented  by  him,  as  also  are  the  open 
lands  near  the  sea  coast.  As  I  have  previously  stated, 
the  Wheatear  is  a  migratory  species.  He  arrives  here 
the  third  week  in  April,  and  soon  after  is  seen  in  pairs, 

Birds  of  the  Chat  tribe  are  for  the  most  part  terrestrial 
in  their  habits,  but  this  is  not  because  the  birds  are  in- 
capable of  perching.  The  Wheatear,  or  Chats  in  general, 
can  perch  just  as  well  as  the  agile  Titmouse,  and  this  is 
borne  out  in  the  little  Whinchat,  a  bird  more  often  seen, 
and  whose  habits  can  be  far  more  readily  studied,  than 
the  above  two  birds  of  the  wilderness.  The  real  matter 
of  fact  is  this  :  if  trees  were  as  plentiful  in  their  wild 
haunts  as  in  the  haunts  of  the  Whinchat,  we  should  see 


THE  STONECHAT  AND  \VHEATEAR.     87 

them  repair  to  their  branches  every  bit  as  frequently  as 
the  Whinchat  himself.  But  on  the  bare  moorland,  or 
on  the  bleak  and  open  common,  vegetation  is  of  a  more 
stunted  growth.  Thus  we  see  the  Wheatear  perching 
on  rocky  boulders,  or  old  walls,  or  on  the  ground, 
simply  because  other  perching-places  are  absent,  and  not 
because  the  foot  of  the  bird  requires  a  broad  surface  to 
obtain  a  secure  hold. 

When  walking  through  the  haunts  of  the  Wheatear  we 
see  the  birds  perched  on  the  walls  or  rocks  around  us 
slowly  jerking  their  tails,  but  as  we  approach  them  they 
flit  before  us,  always  keeping  some  distance  away,  and 
all  the  time  uttering  a  low  and  plaintive  note,  resembling, 
though  faintly,  the  call  note  of  the  Stonechat.  In  the 
fallow  fields  they  will  follow  the  plough,  and  feed  on  the 
grubs  and  insects,  like  the  Wagtail.  Their  food,  in 
addition  to  worms  and  grubs,  is  largely  composed  of 
insects  and  beetles,  and  we  often  see  the  birds  sitting 
motionless,  and  then  with  a  quick  fluttering  movement 
sally  into  the  air  for  the  purpose  of  securing  the  insects 
flying  round  them,  hovering  in  the  air  just  as  buoyantly 
as  our  little  friend  the  Flycatcher. 

May  is  the  Wheatear's  nesting  season,  and,  like  the 
Chats  in  general,  its  nest  is  extremely  difficult  to  find. 
We  may  stumble  upon  it  by  accident  as  it  lies  cleverly 
concealed  under  a  friendly  rock,  but  may  search  for 
hours  with  fruitless  results,  although  we  know  for  certain 
it  is  not  far  away.  In  an  old  wall,  under  a  large  stone, 
or  in  the  crevices  of  the  surrounding  rocks,  are  excellent 
places  to  search  for  it.  When  discovered,  it  will  be  found 
to  be  a  very  simple  structure,  made  of  dry  grass,  and 
lined  with  a  little  hair.  The  eggs  are  four  or  five  in 
number,  sometimes  only  three,  somewhat  elongated  in 
form,and,like  the  Redstart's,  pale  blue,  and  spotless.  The 


88  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

young  Wheatears  are  tended  by  their  parents  for  some 
considerable  time  after  leaving  the  nest,  and  when  an 
intruder  happens  to  disturb  them  the  anxiety  of  their 
parents  is  touching  in  the  extreme.  The  young  birds, 
not  so  strong  upon  the  wing  as  their  parents,  keep 
alighting  close  to  the  observer,  and  the  old  birds  fly  at  a 
considerable  height  in  the  air  in  circles  round  his  head, 
uttering  a  short  plaintive  note,  speaking  of  love  and 
anxiety  for  their  tender  brood.  When  the  young  are  in 
safety  the  old  birds  still  follow  the  observer  for  some 
considerable  distance. 

When  the  heather's  purple  flowers  are  withering  and 
the  bracken  has  partially  donned  its  autumnal  hue,  the 
Wheatears  are  seen  in  small  flocks,  and  as  the  month  of 
September  draws  near  its  close  they  congregate  in  still 
larger  numbers,  and  finally  wing  their  way  southwards  ; 
and  though  they  may  tarry  for  an  indefinite  period  on 
the  downs,  or  other  parts  of  the  south  coast,  still,  up 
here  in  Yorkshire,  their  moorland  home  knows  them  not 
until  the  following  spring. 


THE    WHINCHAT. 

As  we  wander  over  the  fields  when  smiling  irv.  their 
early  summer  garb,  we  ofttimes  see  a  little  bird,  dressed 
out  in  gay  attire,  flitting  from  spray  to  spray,  and 
occasionally  alighting  on  the  tallest  stems  of  herbage, 
all  the  time  uttering  a  monotonous  note  of  u-tac,  u-tac^ 
u-tac-tac-tac.  It  is  the  little  Whinchat,  cousin  to  the 
little  bird  dressed  out  in  still  gayer  plumage,  and  whose 
home  is  on  the  barren  moor,  the  sprightly  Stonechat  to 
wit.  But  though  the  Whinchat  occurs  abundantly 
in  almost  every  grass  field,  still  he  is  found  on  the 
wastes  of  heather  on  the  outskirts  of  the  moorland,  or 
in  the  large  coverts  of  gorse  or  whin  he  finds  a  home. 
Perhaps  from  his  frequenting  the  whin  covers  he  has 
obtained  his  name  of  '  Whin  '  chat,  a  name,  by  the  way, 
very  applicable. 

The  Whinchat  is  a  somewhat  shy  and  wary  little 
creature,  always  endeavouring  to  keep  a  certain  distance 
away  from  the  observer.  They  inhabit  hedgerows  and 


90  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


the  tall  stems  of  herbage,  but  are  often  seen  far  up  the 
branches  of  the  highest  trees.  In  the  pastoral  districts 
upon  their  arrival  they  frequent,  for  the  most  part,  the 
fallow  land,  where  turnips  are  being  sown,  and  it  is  very 
amusing  to  see  them  catch  the  insects  abounding  on 
those  situations,  after  the  manner  of  the  Wagtail.  He 
will  sometimes  be  observed  sitting  apparently  motionless 
on  a  clod  of  earth,  but  if  looked  at  closely,  the  tail  is 
seen  wafting  up  and  down  with  graceful  motion. 
•  Suddenly  his  quick  eye  detects  an  insect  a  few  feet  a\vay, 
and  with  a  rapid,  half  flying  half  hopping  motion,  he 
darts  forward  and  secures  it,  and  then  again  returns  to 
his  original  position,  where  he  remains  still  and  motionless 
as  before.  In  many  fields  we  see  trees  whose  branches 
almost  sweep  the  ground,  and  upon  these  lowly 
branches  the  Whinchat  delights  to  rest  and  bask  in  the 
sun.  Occasionally  we  see  him  sally  into  the  air  and 
catch  the  passing  insects,  like  the  Flycatcher  :  the  beetles 
which  frequent  the  grass  stems  are  also  eaten,  and  ob- 
tained while  the  bird  is  on  the  wing. 

The  Whinchat  utters  his  song  both  when  at  rest  and 
when  fluttering  in  the  air.  There  is  nothing  remarkably 
striking  in  his  performance,  his  song  resembling  that  of 
the  Redstart,  and  given  forth  in  a  very  low  tone.  Per- 
haps the  Whinchat  is  one  of  the  first  birds  to  lose  its 
notes.  With  me  he  warbles  incessantly  throughout  the 
month  of  May,  not  so  frequently  as  June's  leafy  month 
begins  to  wane,  and  ceases  altogether  by  the  first 
week  in  July,  when  the  young  have  almost  reached 
maturity. 

This  little  chorister  is  abroad  very  late  in  the  evening, 
and  when  night  is  about  to  enroll  us  in  her  murky 
shroud  we  hear  their  familiar  call  notes,  u-tac,  u-tac,  tac- 
tac-tac,  sounding  from  the  trees,  hedges,  and  fences,  and 


THE    WHIN  CHAT.  91 


see  the  author  of  them  flitting  hither  and  thither  in  the 
gloom.  The  Whinchat  is  certainly  a  terrestrial  bird  as 
far  as  roosting  is  concerned.  You  never  find  them  re- 
pair to  the  branches  at  eventide  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
pose, always  doing  so  on  the  ground.  When  first  they 
arrive,  we  find  them  -roosting  on  the  fallows,  but  as 
nesting-time  approaches  they  repair  to  the  prass  fields 
for  this  purpose. 

By  the  middle  of  May  the  Whinchat  is  seen  in  pairs, 
and  a  week  or  so  after  their  nest  is  completed.  If  on 
the  moorland,  she  finds  a  place  to  build  her  nest  amongst 
the  heather  ;  if  in  the  gorse  covers,  she  will  repair  to 
the  herbage  in  their  midst,  and  make  her  little  home 
under  some  dense  and  impenetrable  whin  bush  ;  while 
if  her  haunt  is  the  smiling  fields,  her  home  is  built 
amongst  the  grass,  sometimes  in  the  centre  of  the  field, 
or,  at  others,  close  to  the  hedgerows.  Deceptive  motions 
form  the  protective  instinct  of  the  little  Whinchat,  and 
their  nest  is  seldom  discovered  by  design.  Even  when 
the  nest  is  in  course  of  construction  their  vigilance  is  by 
no  means  relaxed.  I  have  often  noticed  the  actions  of 
the  male  bird  when  bringing  materials  to  the  nest,  and 
though  I  have  remained  quiet  and  motionless,  he  would 
not  betray  its  whereabouts  by  visiting  it.  From  spray 
to  spray  he  hops,  sometimes  sitting  motionless  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  flying  to  some  distant  bush,  to  utter 
his  monotonous  call  note  ;  then  back  again,  to  alight  in 
the  herbage,  but  reappearing  the  next  moment  with  the 
materials  still  in  his  beak.  Half  an  hour  quickly  passes, 
but  well  dees  he  know  an  enemy  is  near,  and  I  leave  the 
place,  completely  vanquished.  As  we  stroll  over  the 
grass  fields  we  sometimes  stumble  on  the  nest  by  acci- 
dent. Let  us  examine  this  nest  which  the  female  bird 
has  just  quitted.  We  find  that  a  little  hole  has  been 


92  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


formed,  in  which  the  nest  is  built.  The  nest  itself  is 
made  of  dry  grass,  a  little  moss,  and  lined  with  fibrous 
roots  and  a  few  horsehairs  ;  there  is  nothing  very  imposing 
a  bout  it,  and  it  is  almost  buried  by  the  surrounding  herb- 
age, It  contains  six  eggs  ;  many  nests  only  contain  four  or 
five  ;  and  at  first  sight  you  would  almost  be  led  to  think 
that  the  Hedge  Accentor  had  been  there  and  laid  the 
eggs  on  which  the  mother  Whinchat  was  sitting  ;  but  if 
you  examine  them  closely,  you  will  find  they  are  dif- 
ferent in  form,  being  pointed  at  both  ends,  and  then  in 
colouring  matter  they  differ  too,  by  having  a  ring  of 
light  brown  spots  round  the  larger  end,  in  some  speci- 
mens so  pale  as  to  be  scarcely  seen.  Among  the  many 
birds  with  which  I  have  experimented  in  respect  to 
placing  strange  eggs  in  the  nest,  the  Whinchat  is  the 
only  bird  that  expelled  the  foreign  egg.  It  would  be 
interesting  to  know  from  this  whether  the  Cuckoo  ever 
uses  this  bird's  nest  for  her  purpose. 

The  young  are  seldom  able  to  fly  before  the  grass  is 
cut,  and  when  the  mowers  are  at  work  near  their  nests 
the  anxiety  of  the  parent  birds  is  great  Birds  will  get 
used  to  every  sound  save  that  of  the  gun — it  alone  sends 
terror  through  their  ranks.  Thus  the  Rooks  will  rear 
their  young  in  the  midst  of  a  crowded  city  ;  the  House 
Sparrow  amid  the  deafening  roar  of  a  railway  station  ; 
or  the  Swallow  and  Martin  close  to  the  hum  of  human 
toil.  The  Whinchat,  too,  is  no  exception.  Though  the 
mowing-machine,  with  its  clicking  cog-wheels  and  deafen- 
ing roar,  passes  within  a  few  yards  of  them,  they  displav 
no  alarm  whatever,  and  flit  from  stem  to  stem  before  it. 
When  the  grass  is  all  cut  the  Whinchats  become  rather 
more  shy,  and  flit  uneasily  from  swathe  to  swathe,  in- 
cessantly uttering  their  call  notes,  both  when  flying  and 
when  at  rest.  They  know  full  well  that  their  deceptive 


THE    WHINCHAT.  93 


arts  are  now  of  but  little  avail,  and  their  young,  still 
unable  to  fly,  are  helpless  and  unconcealed.  When  the 
young  have  gained  the  use  of  their  wings,  we  see  them 
in  little  parties  attended  by  their  parents,  who  feed  and 
tend  them  in  this  manner  for  many  weeks,  as  but  one 
brood  is  reared  in  the  year. 

The  food  of  the  Whinchat  is  for  the  most  part  insects, 
yet  the  small  worms  and  grubs  on  the  pastures  are  also 
eaten,  and  though  we  find  bristles  round  the  base  of  the 
bill,  still  they  aid  it  not  in  securing  its  insect  prey. 

The  Whinchat  moults  in  July  and  August,  and  after 
that  season  is  over  they  appear  in  a  garb  nothing  near 
so  rich  and  beautiful  as  their  wedding  dress  of  the 
previous  spring.  Unlike  the  Stonechat,  which  is  seen 
here  the  year  throughout,  the  Whinchat  leaves  us  for 
the  winter  the  third  week  in  September,  but  fewlndeed 
being  seen  after  the  autumnal  equinox. 


THE  SPOTTED  OR    GRAY  FLYCATCHER, 


THE  Spotted  or  Gray  Flycatcher  is  found  in  his 
haunts  early  in  the  flowery  month  of  May.  Tis  when 
the  beech  enshrouds  itself  in  a  lovely  and  delicate  garb 
of  green,  when  the  sycamore  is  clothed  with  golden 
leaves,  and  the  wide-spreading  chestnut  appears  a  tower- 
ing mass  of  foliage,  and  the  mountain  ash  assumes  its 
vernal  garb  ;  when  the  mighty  oak  and  drooping  elm 
form  a  leafy  bower  in  which  the  bird  can  find  seclusion, 
that  he  appears  in  his  old  haunts,  and  from  their  verdant 
shelter  we  hear  his  low  and  rambling  notes  as  he  launches 


THE    SPOTTED   OR   GRAY  FLYCATCHER.         95 

himself  into  the  circumambient  air,  to  feed  on  the 
insects,  which  in  fine  weather  soar  in  clouds  as  high  or 
higher  than  the  tallest  trees.  Though  the  Spotted  Fly- 
catcher is  often  found  in  woods  and  plantations,  still  he 
is  most  frequently  seen  on  their  borders,  these  situations 
abounding  with  his  insect-food,  which  is  not  found  so 
plentifully  in  their  arboreal  depths.  Thus  we  often  see  him 
sitting  on  fences  and  posts,  or  flitting  about  the  walls  of 
woods  and  plantations,  and  hear  his  call  note  from  the 
branches  which  droop  gracefully  over  into  the  surround- 
ing fields.  He  frequents  the  neighbourhood  of  man's 
habitation,  too,  living  in  the  gardens  and  orchards  ;  and 
a  more  unobtrusive  and  quiet  little  bird  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find. 

The  song  of  the  Flycatcher  is  heard  but  rarely,  and 
it  is  uttered  in  such  a  low  tone  as  to  be  scarcely  lieard 
a  few  yards  away.  It  is  given  forth  both  when  the  bird 
is  sitting  at  rest  or  when  fluttering  in  the  air  after  insects. 
It  consists  of  a  few  rambling  notes,  and  puts  you  in  mind 
of  the  Whinchat's  song.  Their  call  notes,  too,  are  very 
similar  to  the  call  notes  of  the  Whinchat,  only  the  first 
note  is  not  so  broad,  and  the  birds  utter  them  when  on 
the  wing  as  well  as  when  stationary.  You  may  often  hear 
them  for  a  long  time  giving  forth  these  call  notes  of 
chee-tiC)  chee-tic,  chee-tic-tic-tic,  in  rapid  succession,  from 
one  perching-place,  and  if  you  notice  the  birds  closely 
you  find  that  every  now  and  then  the  tail  is  wafted 
to  and  fro  with  graceful  motion. 

The  Flycatcher  is,  as  his  name  implies,  a  deadly  foe 
to  insect  life.  We  often  see  him  sitting  motionless  on 
the  decayed  limb  of  a  tree,  or  on  a  low  stump  or  fence, 
or  not  unfrequently  on  the  ivy-covered  wall,  looking  as 
if  he  were  dozing  away  the  blazing  hours  of  noonday. 
But  the  Flycatcher's  inactivity  is  a  treacherous  calm,  and 


96  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE 

his  bright  and  piercing  eye  is  ever  on  the  watch,  and 
woe  betide  the  unlucky  insect  that  happens  to  flit  un- 
consciously by.  With  a  bound,  the  ever  wary  bird 
flutters  into  the  air,  and,  circling  about  for  a  moment,  we 
hear,  if  stationed  near  at  hand,  the  sharp  snap  of  his 
bill  as  it  seizes  the  tempting  morsel.  Flycatchers  are 
often  seen  hovering  in  airy  flight  over  the  meadow  grass, 
every  now  and  then  alighting  to  secure  the  small  insects 
and  beetles  lurking  on  the  stems  of  herbage.  They  will 
sometimes  pursue  an  unusually  large  insect  for  fifty 
yards  or  more,  and  then  we  see  the  Flycatcher's  peculiar 
flight  to  perfection.  This  bird  is  not  the  only  one  who 
secures  its  food  in  this  manner,  for  Chaffinches,  Warblers, 
Pipits,  Whinchats,  and  Wagtails  are  frequently  seen  in 
the  air  doing  likewise.  The  Flycatcher  is  often  seen  on 
manure  heaps,  feeding  on  the  small  beetles,  like  the 
well-knowrn  Chaffinch.  They  are  also  seen  searching  old 
walls  for  food,  by  fluttering  before  and  occasionally 
clinging  to  them.  In  examining  the  Flycatcher  you 
will  notice  a  few  bristles  round  the  gape,  and  many 
writers  will  inform  you  that  these  bristles  aid  the  bird 
in  securing  his  food.  But  this  is  an  error,  as  there  are 
many  birds  equally  expert  at  flycatching  who  have  not 
a  single  one. 

The  nest  of  the  Flycatcher  is  found  in  various  situa- 
tions. You  see  it  in  a  cleft  of  the  rugged  bark  of  some 
hoary  elm,  or  placed  on  some  convenient  bough  of  the 
stately  oak  ;  on  old  walls,  amongst  ivy,  in  the  branches 
of  the  pear  tree  growing  up  the  garden  wall,  or  even 
in  the  trelliswork  beside  your  threshold,  amongst  the 
climbing  woodbine  and  rose,  and  always  supported  on 
one  side  at  least.  Let  us  examine  one  of  their  nests, 
built  in  a  crevice  of  the  bark  of  this  stately  elm.  The 
outside  is  composed  of  coarse  and  dry  grass,  a  little  moss, 


THE   SPOTTED   OR   GRAY  FL\  CATCHER.        97 


and  several  pieces  of  twine,  cotton,  and  worsted,  art- 
fully wove  all  round  the  structure.  There  are  also  a  few 
feathers,  and  here  and  there  portions  of  spiders'  webs 
and  the  wings  of  insects.  The  inside  is  composed  of  a 
few  fine  rootlets  and  a  thick  lining  of  horsehair,  and  is 
but  two  inches  across.  The  eggs,  four,  five,  or  even  six 
in  number,  are  of  a  pale  greenish  ground  colour,  blotched 
and  spotted  with  various  shades  of  reddish  -  brown. 
Some  specimens  are  encircled  with  a  ring  of  co  our- 
ing  matter  round  the  large  end  ;  others  have  the  colour- 
ing more  evenly  distributed  ;  while  yet,  again,  many 
are  clouded  all  over  with  pale  red.  Many  eggs  of  the 
Flycatcher  closely  resemble  those  of  the  Robin.  Fly- 
catchers not  unfrequently  commence  sitting  as  soon  as 
the  first  egg  is  deposited,  and  you  often  find  their  -nests 
containing  fresh  eggs  and  eggs  in  which  the  embryos  are 
considerably  developed.  Silence  is  displayed  by  the 
Flycatcher  as  a  protective  power. 

The  young  are  fed  on  insect  food,  and  when  fully 
fledged  differ  considerably  from  their  parents,  by  being 
'  spotted  '  Flycatchers  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  I 
do  not  consider  that  any  particularity  in  the  young  of 
any  species  of  birds  should  contribute  to,  or  influence, 
the  naming  of  the  adult  birds.  The  Flycatcher  when  at 
maturity  is  not  what  you  might  call  spotted,  for  you 
only  find  a  few  spots  on  the  head,  and  one  or  two  streaks 
on  the  breast,  therefore  the  name  of  '  gray  '  Flycatcher 
is  much  more  preferable. 

When  the  young  can  leave  the  nest  they  still  keep 
in  the  company  of  their  parents,  and  we  see  them  in  the 
late  summer  months  in  little  parties,  perched  on  fences 
or  the  lower  branches,  flitting  away  as  we  approach, 
occasionally  catching  the  insects  or  uttering  their  pleas- 
ing call  notes.  We  find  them  most  active  early  in  the 

H 


98  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


morning  and  at  nightfall.  It  is  a  pleasing  sight  to 
glance  down  the  sunny  glades  in  early  morn,  when 
the  leaves  of  the  trees  are  glowing  in  the  light,  and  the 
countless  numbers  of  insects  flit  hither  and  thither  in  th 
bright  sunlight,  and  watch  the  Flycatchers  obtain  thei, 
morning  meal. 

The  Flycatcher  stays  with  us  but  a  short  five  months 
for  when  their   haunts  are   painted  by  the  bewitching 
colours  which  come  attendant  with  September,  they  mak> 
ready  for  their  journey,  and  by  the  end  of  the. month  they 
leave   us,  to   spend  the  winter  in  company  with   theb 
migratory  congeners  in  the  northern  tropic. 


THE  BLACKCAP  AND    WHITETHROATS.         99 


THE  BLACKCAP  AND    WHITETHROATS. 

OF  all  the  little  songsters  that  regularly  visit  us  every 
season,  the  little  Blackcap  is  first  to  arrive.  He  is  seen 
amongst  the  evergreens,  or  hopping  about  the  naked 
hawthorn  hedges  early  in  April,  and,  like  the  Warblers 
in  general,  he  arrives  some  little  time  before  his  mate, 
and  seldom  or  never  sings  before  her  arrival.  You  can 
tell  him  by  his  rich  and  varied  song,  or,  better  still,  by 
his  jet  black  crown  :  his  mate,  however,  does  not  wear  a 
v  black  cap,'  but  on  the  crown  of  her  head  is  a  patch  of 
reddish-brown. 

The  Blackcap  is  seen  in  shrubberies,  woods,  gardens, 
tangled  hedgerows,  and  lanes  in  which  brambles  are 
prominent.  But,  wherever  found,  he  is  a  shy  and  wary 
little  creature,  and  upon  the  least  alarm  seeks  the  shelter 
of  the  densest  vegetation.  How  rich  and  melodious  is 
the  song  of  the  Blackcap  Sylva  !  His  song  is  given 
forth  on  the  topmost  branches  of  the  tallest  trees,  on 
the  more  lowly  shrubs,  and  from  the  midst  of  the  dank 
and  dense  vegetation  where  he  builds  his  nest.  His 
notes  are  varied,  ay,  almost  as  much  so  as  the  vernal 
notes  of  the  Song-thrush.  Of  the  peculiar  richness  of 
its  tone  no  pen  can  adequately  speak,  while  its  loud  tones, 
to  one  not  familiar  with  this  graceful  little  chorister,  ap- 
pear as  though  a  much  larger  bird  were  uttering  them. 
In  the  vernal  year  I  have  heard  him  sing  as  loud  as  the 
Thrush.  If  you  wish  to  see  this  little  warbler  in  the  act 


RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


of  singing,  you  must  steal  a  march  upon  him  by  noise- 
lessly creeping  amongst  the  dense  undergrowth,  and, 
provided  you  advance  with  cautious  step  and  slow,  your 
wish  will  be  gratified.  You  find  he  sings  as  he  wanders 
over  the  branches  in  his  search  for  insects,  or  remains 
stationary  for  minutes  together,  engaged  in  pouring  forth 
his  notes,  his  little  throat  quivering,  his  head  turning 
from  side  to  side,  as  if  conscious  of  your  presence,  and 
his  jet  black  plumage  contrasting  richly  with  the  golden 
greens  of  the  vernal  vegetation  around.  And  then  how 
beautifully  this  little  creature  modulates  his  music  !  We 
hear  a  soft  plaintive  note,  sounding  as  though  its  author 
were  a  hundred  yards  away  :  gradually  it  rises  in  its  tone  : 
we  think  the  bird  is  coming  nearer :  louder  and  louder 
become  the  notes,  till  they  sound  as  if  a  Blackbird,  Song- 
thrush,  Wren,  Robin,  and  WTarbler  were  all  singing  to- 
gether. We  happen  to  cast  our  eyes  in  the  branches 
above  us,  and  there  we  see  this  little  blackcapped  song- 
ster, and  after  watching  him,  we  find  that  all  these  lovely 
notes,  low  and  soft,  loud  and  full,  come  from  his  little 
throat  alone,  and  when  at  the  same  distance  from  us. 
The  Blackcap  is  erroneously  thought  by  some  to  be  a 
mimic  or  imitator  of  other  species.  In  his  song  I  can 
trace  notes  of  the  Wren,  Robin,  Thrush,  and  Blackbird, 
but  from  this  circumstance  I  must  not  set  him  down  as 
an  imitator  of  those  species,  simply  because  some  of  his 
notes  happen  to  resemble  theirs.  The  Starling  is  the 
same,  and  however  much  this  bird  will  imitate  other 
species  when  in  confinement,  still  I  am  convinced  that  in 
fercz  natures,  his  notes  though  resembling  other  species, 
are  strictly  his  own. 

Though  the  Blackcap  arrives  here  so  early,  still  we 
seldom  find  his  nest  before  the  latter  end  of  May  and 
beginning  of  June.  We  must  seek  it  in  the  most 


THE  BLACKCAP  AND    WHITETHROATS.       101 

secluded  parts  of  his  haunt,  on  the  banks  of  the 
trout  stream  meandering  through  the  woods,  where  the 
brambles  and  briars  grow  in  uncurbed  luxuriance  ;  so, 
too,  in  the  tangled  hedgerows,  and  not  un frequently 
amongst  the  dense  shelter  of  the  holly's  foliage.  It  is 
made  of  dry  grass  stems,  leaf-stalks,  a  little,  moss,  coarse 
roots  and  cobwebs,  and  lined  with  a  few  horsehairs 
The  nest,  although  slight,  and  though  it  can  be  seen 
through  with  the  greatest  ease,  is  compact  and  well  built 
and  beautifully  rounded.  Man  requires  a  pair  of  com- 
passes to  form  a  truthful  circle,  but  this  little  creature, 
aided  by  no  contrivance  save  its  bill  and  feet,  forms  a 
circle  beautifully  true  in  all  its  measurements.  Most 
wonderful  are  the  nests  of  the  feathered  tribe,  and  par- 
ticularly so  when  minutely  exanjinqd.;  ;  TrOily  irrd^ed'are 
they  a  study  in  themselves,  ^ffSugHt'Wral  the'hfgrTest 
interest.  1  he  Blackcap's  eggs  are,  four>  $r*fi\8e;v&  jpktfnber, 
sometimes  only  three,  dull  white ' 'ihs  ground  colour, 
speckled  and  blotched  with  greenish-brown,  and  some- 
times streaked  with  deep  brown.  The  male  bird  often 
sits  upon  the  nest,  probably  as  much  as  the  female,  and 
we  find  that  silence  is  the, power  they  most  frequently 
put  in  force  for  the  protection  of  their  eggs  or  young, 
although  the  female  bird  will  often  use  pugnacious 
motions,  approaching  an  intruder  with  ruffled  feathers, 
and  uttering  sharp  hissing  cries.  When  the  young  are 
hatched,  the  parent  birds  become  still  more  anxious, 
and  much  of  their  habitual  shyness  disappears  until  their 
offspring  reach  maturity.  After  the  young  are  reared, 
you  seldom  or  never  hear  the  male  bird's  song.  But  one 
brood  is  reared  in  the  year,  and  if  their  first  nest  is  de- 
stroyed a  fresh  one  is  made,  but  the  eggs  seldom  exceed 
three. 

The  food  of  the  Blackcap  is  not  confined  to  insects 


102  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

alone,  for  various  berries  are  eaten,  notably  those  of  the 
ivy,  and  the  fruit  gardens,  too,  are  visited  for  sustenance. 
It  would  thus  seem  that  the  Blackcap,  adapting  itself  as 
it  does  to  various  forms  of  food,  would,  like  the  Robin 
or  Wren,  remain  with  us  throughout  the  winter  ;  but 
after  the  middle  of  August  they  gradually  decrease  in 
numbers,  and  I  never  see  them  later  than  the  autumnal 
equinox,  a  period,  by  the  way,  which  marks  the  dis- 
appearance of  many  of  our  birds  of  passage. 

Closely  resembling  the  Blackcap  is  the  Whitethroat, 
but  no  black  or  rufous  covering  adorns  the  head  of  the 
male  or  female.  When  the  hedgerows  are  almost  en- 
shrouded in  foliage,  and  the  thick  undergrowth  is  gain- 
ing vigour  under  the  beams  of  the  vernal  sun,  we  hear 
the  kttriel  Whitetfy'bafc  giving  forth  his  discordant  cries  as 
he  threads  his  way  through  the  tangled  vegetation.  A 
bifai  Loving  retirement  ^nd^the  thick  matted  fences,  still 
he  is  by  no  means  shy,  nay,  almost  as  trustful  as  the 
little  Willow  Warblers  themselves.  We  find  the  White- 
throat  in  small  numbers  on  the  lonely  moors,  as  well  as 
round  the  hedgerows,  but  in  the  latter  situations  he  is 
most  common.  On  the  moors  he  frequents  the  bushes. 
I  am  of  opinion  that  the  male  Whitethroats  do  not 
generally  sing  at  the  time  of  arrival,  but  after  a  few  days, 
probably  when  the  females  have  arrived,  we  hear  them 
giving  forth  occasional  snatches  of  melody  ;  and  as  the 
month  of  May  rolls  on  they  utter  their  varied  song  much 
oftener,  and  in  strains  of  greater  power  and  richness. 
Early  in  June  the  Whitethroat  may  be  said  to  be  in  full 
song.  His  song  in  parts  is  indescribably  sweet,  and  I 
know  of  no  migratory  songster,  the  little  Willow  Warbler 
excepted,  that  sings  so  boldly  and  in  such  exposed  situa- 
tions. He  ofttimes  poises  himself  on  the  topmost  spray 
of  a  bush  or  tree,  and  warbles  long  and  loud  :  he  is  not 


THE   BLACKCAP  AND    WHITETHROATS.       103 

shy,  and  you  can  approach  him  closely  when  so  engaged. 
The  Whitethroat,  like  many  other  songsters,  sings  as  he 
flies,  and  I  often  see  him,  when  flying  from  hedge  to 
hedge,  soar  up  in  the  air  and  utter  notes  much  freer  than 
when  at  rest.  He  is  rarely  heard  to  sing  after  the  third 
week  in  July. 

The  Whitethroat,  though  essentially  an  insect  feeder, 
must  still,  however,  rank  as  one  of  the  fruit-eating 
Warblers.  Upon  their  arrival  they  feed  upon  insects  and 
their  larvae,  on  which  their  young  are  also  reared  ;  but 
when  the  fruit  is  ripe  we  see  the  Whitethroats  regaling 
themselves  in  the  fruit  gardens.  Wheat  is  fruit  to  them, 
and  when  that  grain  is  in  its  soft  creamy  stage,  previous 
to  ripening,  we  see  the  Whitethroats  devouring  it  greedily. 
Insects,  too,  which  infest  corn-fields,  particularly  the  fly 
known  as  'daddy  long  legs,'  are  at  the  same  time  preyed 
upon.  The  Whitethroat  is  very  often  seen  capturing 
insects  like  the  Flycatcher,  and  running  and  creeping 
over  trees  and  shrubs,  like  the  Titmouse  or  Creeper. 

Although  the  Whitethroat  arrives  here  comparatively 
early  in  the  year,  still  it  is  one  of  the  latest  birds  to 
breed.  Most,  if  not  all,  of  our  summer  migratory  birds 
are  late  breeders,  and  this  is  partly  owing  to  the  fact 
that  all,  or  nearly  all,  breed  in  secluded  places  ;  and  as 
the  vegetation  in  which  they  find  seclusion  is  not  suffi- 
ciently dense  until  very  late  in  the  spring,  o'r  even  early 
summer,  to  nest  earlier  in  the  season  would  be  quite  at 
variance  with  their  retiring  habits.  But  at  the  same 
time  food  is  very  probably  another  cause  of  late  breed- 
ing, for  the  young  are  perhaps  fed  upon  food  which  only 
makes  its  appearance  at  certain  times.  By  the  second 
week  in  May  the  Whitethroat  is  in  pairs,  and  soon  after 
that  date  we  find  their  flimsy  net-like  abode.  In  th6 
brambles  creeping  in  wild  confusion  over  a  waste  bit  of 


104  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 


ground,  by  the  sides  of  the  hedgerows  in  the  thorns  and 
tangled  grass,  amongst  heaps  of  hedge  clippings,  and  in 
nettles  and  in  the  hedgerows,  but  always  well  concealed 
by  surrounding  vegetaiion,  we  find  it ;  sometimes  six 
feet  or  more  from  the  ground,  at  other  times  but  a  few 
inches.  It  is  made  of  the  finer  kinds  of  dry  grass  stems, 
and  lined  with  a  few  fibrous  rootlets  and  a  little  horse- 
hair ;  though  a  flimsy  looking  structure  in  the  extreme, 
still  strong  enough  for  its  purpose.  The  eggs,  very 
seldom  more  than  five  in  number,  are  dull  greenish- 
white,  with  greenish-brown  and  very  faint  purple  blotches, 
also  a  few  deep  brown  specks,  very  often  forming  a  zone 
round  the  larger  end.  The  Whitethroat,  as  a  rule, 
displays  silence  as  a  protective  power,  but  once  away 
from  the  vicinity  of  her  nest,  she  is  one  of  the  noisiest 
little  birds  we  meet.  As  soon  as  the  young  can  fly  they 
are  abandoned  by  their  parents,  who  likewise  separate  ; 
and  then  we  see  the  Whitethroat  as  a  solitary  bird,  living 
alone  until  the  time  of  migration  arrives. 

In  the  moulting  season,  which  invariably  takes  place 
in  July  and  August,  the  Whitethroat  becomes  a  very 
shy  and  retiring  little  creature,  seldom  venturing  far 
from  its  home  in  the  tangled  hedgerows.  So  silent  do 
the  birds  now  keep,  that  we  are  apt  to  think  they  have 
departed  for  the  south,  but  in  a  few  weeks  we  find  them 
lively  and  trustful  as  ever,  but  with  this  difference,  the 
males  no  longer  flit  from  spray  to  spray,  uttering  their 
charming  song.  By  the  second  week  in  September, 
sometimes  a  little  sooner,  the  unerring  and  resistless 
impulse  that  sent  the  little  Whitethroat  so  far  for  the 
purpose  of  rearing  its  young,  again  calls  upon  it  to  return 
to  the  land  from  whence  it  came.  Though  food  be  in 
abundance  and  the  weather  calm  and  genial,  still  at  the 
allotted  time  it  leaves  us  Tor  southern  shores.  I  am 


THE  BLACKCAP,  AND    WHITETHROATS.       105 


satisfied  that  the  Whitethroats  perform  their  migrations 
in  the  night.  They  will  be  seen  in  plenty  in  the  hedge- 
rows one  day,  and  the  next  not  a  single  bird  is  seen,  and 
their  well-  known  cries  are  heard  no  more. 

The  third  of  these  little  choristers  now  before  us  is 
the  Lesser  Whitethroat,  a  bird,  as  its  name  implies,  a 
White  throat,  but  slightly  smaller  than  the  one  whose 
life  history  has  just  been  traced.  Like  its  congener,  it 
is  a  migratory  bird,  and  arrives  a  little  later  in  the  year, 
seldom  being  seen  before  May.  It  is  a  shy  and  wary 
little  creature  enough,  only  inhabiting  the  most  tangled 
hedgerows,  the  deepest  woods  and  dells,  or  most  impene- 
trable thickets  ;  and  though  absolutely  common  nowhere, 
still  I  suspect  its  retiring  nature  and  unobtrusiveness 
combined  cause  it  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  much  oarer 
bird  than  it  really  is. 

It  is  only  by  exercising  the  utmost  caution  that  you 
can  observe  this  little  creature,  for  on  the  least  alarm  it 
instantly  darts  into  the  thickest  cover,  and  there  remains 
until  the  intruder  retires.  I  sometimes  succeed  in  watching 
him  when  seeking  for  food.  I  have  seen  him  when  so  en- 
gaged amongst  the  dense  branches  of  the  tallesttrees,from 
which  he  sometimes  sallies  on  fluttering  wings  to  secure 
the  passing  insects.  Though  the  common  or  greater 
Whitethroat  may  often  be  seen  on  the  fruit  trees,  in  the 
garden,  still  I  seldom  or  never  see  the  smaller  species,  as 
it  probably  contents  itself  with  the  various  wild  fruits 
growing  in  its  haunts.  The  Lesser  Whitethroat  is  another 
very  late  breeder.  When  the  vegetation  in  its  haunts  is 
enclosed  in  its  summer  wreath,  the  little  birds  seek  out  a 
nesting-site.  It  has  not  far  to  go,  the  nesting  materials 
are  at  hand.  Concealment  and  seclusion  are  the  two 
main  things  required,  and  the  brambles  or  thickets,  the 
'opmost  branches  of  a  tangled  hedgerow,  or  the  bushes 


io6  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


bordering  the  stream  in  some  shaded  dell,  admirably 
supply  the  want.  The  nest  you  will  find  to  be  a  very 
small  and  fragile  structure  and  beautifully  rounded,  and 
nothing  near  so  deep,  accordingly,  as  the  nest  of  the 
larger  species.  It  is  made  of  fine  grass  stems,  artfully 
wove  together,  enclosing  the  neighbouring  twigs,  and 
lined  with  a  few  fibrous  rootlets.  He  who  studies  the 
nests  of  birds,  and  views  them  as  structures  adapted  in 
every  particular  to  the  requirements  of  their  feathered 
owners,  will  probably  pause,  and  stand  perplexed,  when 
viewing  the  nests  of  these  delicate  sylvan  birds.  Here 
he  will  find  a  netlike  structure,  almost  as  loose  and 
fragile  as  the  spider's  web,  containing  the  eggs  or 
helpless  young  of  a  most  delicate  bird,  while  in  yonder 
shrub  the  sturdy  Chaffinch  is  rearing  her  young  in  a 
nest  made  of  the  warmest  materials.  We  might  pursue 
the  subject  ad  libitirn  with  the  same  results,  but  the 
cause  we  are  as  yet  unable  to  determine. 

The  eggs  of  the  Lesser  Whitethroat  are  four  or  five 
in  number,  and  of  course  rather  smaller  than  the  eggs 
of  the  larger  species.  They  are  dull  white  in  ground 
colour,  blotched  and  spotted  with  deep  brown  and 
greenish-brown  markings.  When  the  nest  is  approached 
the  female  bird  displays  her  silent  protective  instinct, 
and  remains  brooding  motionless  over  her  treasure  until 
almost  touched  by  the  hand.  Her  mate,  too,  when 
danger  threatens,  speedily  appears,  and  both  the  birds 
hop  anxiously  from  twig  to  twig,  uttering  their  harsh  and 
monotonous  call  notes.  You  will  notice  that  the  more 
frequently  the  nest  is  visited  the  more  wary  the  birds 
become,  and  when  their  nest  is  approached  the  mother 
bird  at  once  quits  it,  and,  threading  her  way  silently 
through  the  foliage,  appears  a  short  distance  away  in 
company  with  her  mate  ;  and  should  you  further  alarm 


THE  BLACKCAP  AND    WHITETHROATS.       107 

them,  they  seek  safety  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  their 
haunts.  I  am  satisfied  that  the  Lesser  Whitethroat  is 
another  of  those  birds  unable  to  distinguish  its  own 
eggs  from  the  eggs  of  other  species.  I  have  placed  the 
eggs  of  the  Willow  Warbler  in  the  nest  of  this  bird  after 
removing  the  rightful  eggs,  and  they  have  been  attended 
to  with  the  greatest  care.  Throughout  the  early  sum- 
mer months  the  male  Whitethroat  contributes  to  the 
melody  which  fills  the  grove  at  that  delightful  time,  but 
he  seldom  or  never  sings  after  the  young  can  fly.  As 
the  Lesser  Whitethroat  is  of  so  shy  and  retiring  a  nature, 
it  is  difficult  to  mention  the  exact  time  of  their  depar- 
ture, but  there  is  small  doubt  but  what  the  little 
creatures  leave  us  for  the  south  by  the  latter  end  of 
August  or  beginning  of  September,  soon  after  the 
autumnal  moult  is  completed. 


THE    WILLOW   WARBLER. 

OF  all  the  feathered  choristers  that  follow  the  sun  in 
his  northern  journey,  the  little  Willow  Warbler  is  my 
special  favourite.  His  trustfulness,  delicate  appearance, 
graceful  motions,  and  unassuming  garb,  together  with 
his  plaintive  song  and  call  notes,  all  give  me  pleasure, 
and  it  is  with  delight  I  welcome  him  in  the  fresh  and 
vernal  month  of  April.  He  arrives  here  sometimes  as 
soon  as  the  first,  while  at  other  times  he  is  not  seen 
until  the  third  week  in  the  month  ;  and,  like  the  Warblers 
in  general,  the  males  make  their  appearance  fiist,  but  do 
not  sing  until  the  arrival  of  their  mates.  I  know  not 
how  far  naturalists  will  agree  with  me  with  regard  to 
these  birds  migrating  in  the  night,  but  here  they  in- 
variably appear  to  do  so.  You  find  the  Willow  Warbler 
in  woods,  fields,  coppices,  plantations,  gardens,  and 
pleasure  grounds,  but  very  rarely  on  the  wild  and 
barren  moor.  They  frequent  as  a  rule  the  lower 


\ 

THE    WILLOW   WARBLER.  109 

vegetation,  exploring  every  branch  and  twig  in  search 
of  their  insect  prey,  the  males  occasionally  stopping  to 
warble  forth  their  notes  as  they  sit  delicately  poised  on 
some  slender  spray.  You  see  the  birds  to  advantage 
when  perched  amongst  the  fresh  and  vernal  foliage 
of  the  birch  just  as  it  is  emerging  into  leaf.  Their 
plumage  resembles  the  surrounding  foliage,  and  their 
delicate  form  and  graceful  actions  harmonise  with  the 
slender  twigs  and  branches. 

I  know  of  few  birds  indeed  which  possess  so  sweet  a 
song  as  this  frail  little  creature.  It  is  plaintive  and 
soothing  in  the  extreme,  being  so  soft  and  rich  in  its 
tone,  commencing  with  a  low  and  sweet  twee-t^cvee-twee, 
and  as  the  song  approaches  its  end  the  notes  swell 
louder  and  richer,  and  finally  cease  in  so  low  a  strain  as 
to  be  scarcely  audible  a  few  yards  away.  He  some- 
times utters  his  song  when  flying  through  the  air  or 
when  coursing  over  the  slender  branches.  He  sings 
incessantly  throughout  the  spring  and  early  summer, 
but  in  July  and  August  we  seldom  hear  it  save  at  the 
morning's  dawn,  and  by  the  end  of  the  latter  month  it  is 
lost  in  the  autumnal  moult,  to  be  regained,  however, 
when  that  season  is  passed,  in  all  its  former  beauty — a 
circumstance  found  in  no  other  migratory  Warbler  that 
I  am  acquainted  with,  and,  as  far  as  I  can  determine,  an 
overlooked  fact  in  the  life  history  of  this  little  sylvan 
wanderer.  Their  call  notes  too  are  singularly  low  and 
plaintive,  and  uttered  when  the  birds  are  in  motion  or 
when  at  rest. 

The  trustfulness  of  the  little  Willow  Warbler  is 
surprising.  Seat  yourself  on  some  grassy  bank  in  his 
haunts,  and  you  will  be  enabled  to  observe  his  motions 
with  ease.  He  will  approach  the  bushes  whose  branches 
droop  over  you,  and  seek  his  food  within  reach  of  your 


no  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE, 

hand.  See  with  what  nicety  he  poises  upon  the  slendei- 
twigs  ;  notice  the  agility  he  displays  in  exploring  every 
branch,  now  stopping  to  secure  some  insect  or  its  larvae, 
or  pausing  to  utter  his  charming  song.  He  visits  the  old 
ivy-covered  walls  as  well,  in  whose  crevices  he  finds 
abundant  food,  and  mark  how  nimbly  he  explores  the 
many  crannies,  drawing  forth  the  spiders  lurking  there. 
Now  he  sits  motionless  after  the  manner  of  the  Flycatcher, 
to  dart  into  the  air  at  the  first  passing  insect,  securing  it 
with  becoming  agility  and  ease.  You  not  unfrequently 
see  him  exploring  the  bark  of  some  noble  son  of  the 
forest,  for  he  can  do  so  just  as  easily  as  the  sombre 
clothed  little  Creeper  himself.  If  you  closely  observe 
him,  when  so  engaged,  you  find  his  motions  more  or  less 
spiral,  and  unlike  the  Creeper,  who  invariably  ascends  a 
tree  in  a  straight  or  nearly  straight  course.  By  this 
peculiar  motion  the  Willow  Warbler  gains  an  ample 
meal,  for  let  the  observer  examine  the  bark  of  most  trees, 
and  he  will  be  surprised  at  the  quantity  of  insect  life 
lurking  there. 

The  food  of  the  Willow  Warbler  from  its  arrival  until 
July  is  composed  of  insects  and  larvae,  but  when  the  fruit 
is  ripe  they  forsake  for  the  most  part  their  woodland 
haunts,  and  subsist  upon  the  sweet  and  luscious  produce 
of  the  garden.  But  even  in  the  fruit  season  they  are  deadly 
foes  to  insects,  and  one  in  particular,  namely  the  '  daddy 
long  legs,'  which  sometimes  occurs  in  such  numbers  as 
almost  to  amount  to  a  plague,  the  grass  and  bushes 
swarming  with  them.  The  infinite  amount  of  good  all 
birds  perform  is  manifest  to  every  careful  observer  of 
them.  In  what  state  would  the  surrounding  fields  and 
gardens  be  if  it  were  not  for  the  army  of  small  birds 
which  tenant  them  ?  I  dare  not  hazard  a  conjecture  as 
to  the  probable  end  of  vegetation  on  the  fair  hills  and 


THE    WILLOW   WARBLER. 


valleys  of  our  country  if  those  insect  hunters  were  no 
more. 

The  Willow  Warbler  pairs  annually,  as  a  rule,  a  few 
clays  after  the  arrival  of  the  females,  but  nest  building  is 
not  commenced  at  once.  During  the  mating  season  you 
sometimes  see  them  chase  each  other  with  startling 
rapidity,  darting  unharmed  through  all  the  intricacies  of 
the  tangled  undergrowth  with  the  rapidity  of  a  meteor. 
May,  with  its  expanding  buds  and  flowery  train,  arrives, 
and  the  little  birds  must  see  about  their  all  important 
purpose.  Though  you  see  them  far  up  amongst  the 
mighty  branches,  yet  they  do  not  aspire  to  such  a  lofty 
site  for  their  abode.  On  some  cosy  bank  amongst  the 
trailing  brambles,  along  the  hedgerow  side,  or  even  far 
away  in  the  centre  of  the  mowing  grass,  they  find  a 
place  adapted  to  their  wants.  The  nest  of  this  bird  is 
but  rarely,  very  rarely,  found  built  at  any  height  from  the 
ground.  I  have  however  seen  their  nest  several  feet  from 
the  ground,  but  the  instance  is  solitary  in  my  experience 
The  nest  in  question  was  built  partly  on  a  stone  jutting 
out  of  an  ivy -covered  wall,  and  partly  supported  by  the 
stem  of  a  small  hawthorn  tree.  It  was  embosomed  in 
the  ivy's  glossy  foliage,  one  of  whose  creeping  branches 
formed  its  main  support  :  it  contained  four  eggs.  The 
nest  of  the  Willow  Warbler  is  a  very  loose  structure,  and 
once  removed  from  its  original  position,  will  bear  but 
the  most  delicate  usage.  It  is  composed  of  dry  grass,  a 
few  withered  leaves,  and  lined  first  with  horsehair  and 
rootlets,  and  then  a  plentiful  bed  of  feathers.  I  once  took 
a  nest  of  this  bird  carefully  to  pieces,  and  in  it  I  found  two 
hundred  feathers  of  various  sizes,  but  chiefly  of  a  downy 
texture,  of  the  Blackbird,  Thrush,  Rook,  domestic  Duck, 
and  poultry.  Besides  these  there  were  countless  hairs  of 
horse  and  cow,  coarse  and  fine  grass,  scraps  of  moss,  and 


RURAL    BIRD   LIFE. 


a  few  dry  leaves — by  the  way,  a  somewhat  varied  assort- 
ment. The  nest  is  more  open  than  the  Chiffchaff,  and 
appears  as  if  overturned,  the  eggs  being  laid  on  the  side. 
Notwithstanding  the  number  of  journeys  the  little  builders 
have  to  perform  in  conveying  materials,  the  nest  is  ready 
for  its  purpose  the  fourth  or  fifth  day  after  its  commence- 
ment. Wary  indeed  are  the  little  owners  when  approach- 
ing their  nest  with  materials.  You  sometimes  see  them 
with  a  feather,  for  instance,  and  observe  how  they  hop 
from  spray  to  spray,  conscious  of  your  presence,  and 
uneasy  for  the  safety  of  their  still  unfinished  nest.  Keep 
motionless  and  have  patience,  and  the  little  creatures  will 
gain  confidence  and  visit  their  nest.  But  do  not,  I  pray 
you,  take  the  advantage  of  their  confiding  nature  to 
destroy  their  handiwork.  See  and  admire  it,  and  leave 
it  to  them,  for  to  blast  the  hopes  of  the  little  owners 
would  be  cruel  indeed.  Their  eggs  are  six  or  seven  in 
number,  sometimes  only  four,  of  a  pure  and  glossy  white, 
blotched  and  spotted  with  reddish-brown  :  some  spe- 
cimens are  more  faintly  marked  than  others.  Before 
the  contents  of  the  egg  are  removed  they  possess  a 
faint  and  beautiful  tinge  of  pink.  Silence  is  the  Willow 
Warbler's  general  form  of  protective  instinct,  and  you 
never  hear  her  utter  a  sound  of  any  description  when  leav- 
ing her  nest.  The  Willow  Warbler  will  care  for  and 
rear  the  young  of  other  species  with  as  much  care  as  her 
own.  I  once  inserted  a  young  Whitethroat  in  the  nest 
of  a  Willow  Warbler  containing  one  young  one,  and  the 
parent  bird  attended  both  her  own  offspring  and  the 
young  Whitethroat  with  every  care  ;  but  either  a  weasel, 
or  that  sly  and  prying  animal  the  rat,  destroyed  both 
the  nestlings,  and  prevented  me  having  the  pleasure  of 
witnessing  the  young  Whitethroat  grow  up  to  maturity 
under  such  novel  circumstances.  Young  Willow  War- 


THE    WILLOW   WARBLER.  113 


biers  are  abandoned  by  their  parents  when  able  to  fly, 
and  the  birds  for  the  most  part  lead  a  solitary  life. 

The  little  Willow  Warblers  tarry  on  our  bleak 
northern  shores  long  after  many  of  their  soft-billed 
congeners  have  departed  for  southern  climes.  They 
leave  us  by  the  latter  end  of  September,  and  when  I 
miss  these  little  songsters  flitting  gracefully  from  spray 
to  spray,  I  feel  as  though  I  had  lost  a  number  of  friends  ; 
for  what  engaging  little  creatures  these  Willow  Warblers 
are.  With  the  motions  of  the  Flycatcher,  Creeper,  and 
Titmouse  ;  with  their  own  charming  song  and  actions  ; 
with  their  active  fairy-like  aspect,  and  with  their  harm- 
less and  trustful  disposition,  they  shall  ever  have  a  friend 
in  me.  '  So  little  African  wanderer,  sweetest  of  all  thy 
sylvan  race,  rest  here,  each  time  Nature's  mandates 
thee  northwards,  in  peace  and  safety.' 


SEDGE   WARBLER. 


WOOD   WREN,    CHIFFCHAFF,   AND 
SEDGE    WARBLER. 

THERE  is  perhaps  no  group  of  birds  which  will  more 
puzzle  the  young  naturalist  than  the  two  former  of  the 
three  birds  now  before  us,  and  the  little  Willow  Warbler 
treated  with  in  the  preceding  pages  ;  for  it  is  only  by 
the  closest  observation  we  can  distinguish  them.  The 
Wood  Wren  is  conspicuous  by  his  large  size  and  bright 
yellow  plumage,  and  the  Chiffchaff  is  much  the  dullest 
clothed  in  this  pretty  trio.  But  neither  of  these  two 
birds  sings  so  low  and  plaintive  as  our  little  friend  the 
Willow  W'arbler. 

First,  then,  we  will  take  the  Wood  Warbler  or  Wood 
Wren,  and  if  the  reader  wishes  to  acquaint  himself  with 
this  pretty  species  he  must  seek  it  in  the  woods  and 
shrubberies.  Sometimes,  though  rarely  however,  we  see 
it  in  the  fields,  the  lanes,  or  the  gardens,  between  the 
months  of  May  and  September.  To  go  at  other  times 
would  be  useless,  for  the  Wood  Wren,  like  its  two  con- 


WOOD  WREN,  CHIFFCHAFF&  SEDGE  WARBLER.  115 


geners,  is  a  migratory  species.  With  much  the  same 
motions  as  the  Willow  Warbler  we  see  them  cours- 
ing over  the  surrounding  vegetation,  exploring  every 
branch  and  twig  in  search  of  their  insect  prey  ;  but 
perhaps  the  Wood  Wren  is  more  often  seen  in  the 
branches  of  the  surrounding  trees  than  the  Willow 
Warbler.  Right  up  in  the  leafy  crowns  of  the  forest 
trees  we  see  him  hopping  hither  and  thither  amongst 
the  foliage,  occasionally  pausing  to  utter  his  loud,  wild, 
and  varied  song,  which  echoes  through  the  leafy  arches 
of  the  woods,  and  fills  the  air  around  with  gladness.  If 
it  be  pairing  time,  their  music  is  heard  from  every  bower, 
now  varied  by  the  Willow  Warbler's  plaintive  trills,  and 
anon  by  the  more  loud  and  piercing  notes  of  the 
ChifTchaff. 

The  Wood  Wren  is  not  a  gregarious  species,  nor  does 
it  pair  for  life,  and  every  season  for  a  short  time  after 
its  arrival  it  leads  a  life  of  solitude.  But  when  both 
sexes  have  arrived — for  be  it  known  the  males  arrive  a 
little  the  soonest — and  recruited  their  failing  strength,  the 
serious  business  of  the  year  is  commenced.  By  resist- 
less impulse  each  and  every  bird  seeks  the  company 
of  a  mate,  and  together  they  seek  a  suitable  place  in 
which  to  build  their  little  home.  Under  some  hazel 
bush,  by  the  side  of  the  stream,  or  on  the  banks  of  a 
shaded  dell,  a  place  meeting  their  requirements  is  found. 
A  small  cavity  is  quickly  made,  and  the  nest,  formed  of 
dry  grasses  and  a  little  moss,  is  soon  completed.  The 
young  naturalist,  however  puzzling  the  birds  may  be, 
cannot  easily  confound  the  nest  of  the  Wood  Wren  with 
that  of  the  ChifTchaff  or  Willow  Warbler.  It  differs 
from  them  by  having  no  lining  of  feathers.  Five  eggs 
are  most  often  found,  though  sometimes  the  nest 
contains  but  three  or  four.  They  are,  of  course,  much 


no  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

larger  than  those  of  the  Willow  Warbler,  and  more  richly 
coloured,  being  of  a  pure  white,  spotted  and  streaked 
with  deep  reddish-brown. 

Unlike  the  Whitethroat  and  Blackcap  Sylva,  the 
Wood  Warbler  and  ChiffchafT  subsist,  as  far  as  I  can 
determine,  on  insects  alone.  I  seldom  see  the  Wood 
Wren  after  the  first  week  in  September,  and  never  hear 
his  notes  after  the  young  have  reached  maturity. 

The  second  little  chorister  is*  the  smallest  of  the 
Willow  Warblers  found  in  Britain,  and  he  is  also  dressed 
in  the  most  sober  garb.  We  find  them  in  the  same 
haunts  as  the  Willow  Warbler,  and  their  habits,  too, 
are  very  similar  to  that  bird,  but  they  are  nothing  near 
so  plentiful.  Early,  very  early  sometimes,  in  April  he 
makes  his  appearance  ;  and  such  a  frail  little  creature 
he  is  too.  How  those  feeble  wings  support  him  on  his 
long  journey  seems  incredible,  but  such  it  is.  You  find 
he  seldom  or  never  sings  just  upon  his  arrival,  and 
remains  silent  until  the  appearance  of  the  female  birds, 
at  whose  advent  his  song  commences. 

You  can  scarcely  term  the  music  of  the  Chiffchaff  a 
song — the  only  notes  he  utters  are  the  monotonous 
cries  of  chiff  ch-a-ff,  chiff  ch-a-ff,  from  which  he  takes 
his  name.  He  utters  them  as  he  wanders  from  branch 
to  branch,  and  will  sometimes  sit  motionless  for  half  an 
hour  or  more,  uttering  these  monotonous  notes.  Still, 
monotonous  as  they  are,  I  always  think  that  they 
harmonise  beautifully  with  the  notes  of  other  birds  that 
fill  the  woodlands  with  sweetest  sounds.  These  harsh 
sounds  only  help  to  increase  the  power  and  beauty  of 
more  favoured  songs,  and  in  Nature's  fastnesses  there  is 
not  a  sound,  be  it  ever  so  harsh  and  discordant,  but  what 
chimes  beautifully  and  harmoniously  in  with  other  and 
sweeter  music,  and  the  varied  surroundings. 


WOOD  WREN,  CHIFFCHAFF  &  SEDGE  WARBLER.  117 

The  Chiffchaff  frequents  both  the  lower  bushes  and 
the  branches  of  the  tallest  trees,  showing  in  this  respect 
a  variance  to  the  habits  of  the  Willow  Warbler.  He  is 
a  far  shyer  species,  too,  and  flies  rapidly  off  to  the 
deepest  solitudes  should  you  alarm  him.  By  sitting 
quiet  and  motionless,  however,  he  will  approach  you,  and 
reward  your  patience  with  a  glimpse  of  his  fragile  little 
form. 

I  have  long  thought  that  here,  at  least,  the  Chiff- 
chaff's  race  is  dying  out,  and  that  the  Willow  Warbler 
is  replacing  him.  Season  after  season  he  seems  to  occur 
in  lessening  numbers,  and  his  loud  cries  disturb  his 
favourite  haunts  less  frequently  year  by  year.  His  shy 
and  retiring  habits — for  in  one  so  closely  related  to  the 
Willow  Warbler  we  should  expect  a  corresponding 
degree  of  trustfulness — also  seem  to  show  that  his 
presence  in  these  parts  is  drawing  to  a  close.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Willow  Warblers  proportionately  increase, 
and  almost  every  spray  sends  forth  their  plaintive  songs 
of  gladness.  I  can  almost  trace  an  instance  in  these  de- 
licate sylvan  songsters  where  Nature's  fierce  and  hidden 
contests  are  exposed  to  view — favouring  one  race  for  the 
time  being,  and  causing  the  other  to  pass  slowly  and 
silently,  and  it  may  be  finally,  away.  The  grain  of 
favour  is  in  the  balance  of  the  Willow  Warbler,  and  the 
Chiffchaff  is  undoubtedly  affected  by  it.  Like  the  red 
man  who  roamed  for  untold  ages  through  the  wilds  of 
America,  its  race,  in  its  now  existing  form,  is  passing 
away. 

Like  most  migratory  warblers,  the  Chiffchaff  is  a 
late  breeder,  and  May  is  well  advanced  ere  we  find  its 
nest.  It  is  often  situated  amongst  the  herbage  on  a 
bank,  under  the  wide  trailing  brambles  up  the  hedgerow 
sides,  or  far  from  man's  habitation  in  the  thickest  woods. 


n8  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


The  Chiffchaff  does  not  confine  itself  to  the  ground 
alone  for  a  nesting-site,  and  we  not  unfrequently  find 
its  home  some  two  or  three  feet  from  it.  Unlike  its 
congener,  the  Wood  Wren,  the  little  Chiffchaff  makes 
a  substantial  nest,  and  its  young  require  a  bed  of 
softest  feathers.  The  eggs  are  four  or  five  in  number, 
and  differ  from  those  of  the  Willow  Warbler  by  being 
slightly  smaller,  rather  more  pointed,  and  the  markings 
of  a  deeper  and  richer  red,  very  often  forming  a  zone 
round  the  larger  end.  When  the  young  no  longer  need 
their  parents'  aid  the  union  between  the  parents  ceases 
its  mysterious  power,  and  old  and  young  alike  separate, 
probably  for  ever.  They  leave  us  somewhere  about  the 
time  the  Willow  Warblers  take  their  departure  for  the 
south,  which  is  seldom  much  later  than  the  autumnal 
equinox. 

The  Sedge  Warbler  is  another  songster  that  regularly 
visits  us  every  spring.  He  is  a  lover  of  marshy  places, 
and  delights  to  find  seclusion  amongst  the  dense  under- 
wood skirting  the  banks  of  pools  and  streams.  Amongst 
the  ever  murmuring  reeds  and  sedges  also  he  finds  a 
fitting  haunt,  and  his  rich  and  varied  song  is  often  heard 
trilling  forth  from  their  verdant  fastnesses.  He  is  a 
bird  whose  only  aim  appears  to  be  the  shunning  of  man's 
approaches,  and  it  is  very  often  indeed  only  by  his 
notes  that  we  know  he  is  at  hand.  You  sometimes  hear 
him  singing  so  loudly  as  to  appear  as  if  he  were  but  a 
few  inches  away,  and  it  is  only  by  the  most  diligent 
search  that  you  succeed  in  finding  him,  so  still  and 
motionless  does  he  keep,  and  so  unassuming  is  his 
plumage. 

The  Sedge  Warbler  is  often  mistaken  for  the  Nightin- 
gale, partly  on  account  of  his  song,  and  partly  because 
he  ofttimes  warbles  in  the  hours  of  night.  But  to  those 
who  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  hear  the  lovely 


WOOD  WREX,  CHIFFCHAFF&  SEDGE  WARBLER.  119 


strain*  of  Philomela  he  is  but  a  sorry  substitute.  There 
seems  to  be  a  vague  idea  amongst  persons  unlearned  in 
the  ways  and  doings  of  the  feathered  race  that  no  bird, 
the  Nightingale  excepted,  sings  at  night.  But  this  is  an 
error,  for  many  birds,  notably  the  Warblers,  pour  forth 
some  of  their  sweetest  strains  under  a  star-spangled  sky. 

The  Sedge  Warbler  appears  to  live  entirely  on  insect 
u'fe.  You  sometimes  see  him  take  a  short  flight  over 
ihe  surface  of  the  water  and  secure  an  insect,  and  then 
veturn  to  his  perching-place.  He  also  explores  the 
branches  and  twigs,  likewise  the  reedy  places  and  coarse 
vegetation  bordering  the  waters. 

We  find  their  nest  sometimes  placed  in  the  thick 
branches  of  the  hedgerow  bordering  a  stream,  at  other 
times  we  see  it  in  the  brambles  growing  in  wild  confusion 
in  his  marshy  haunts,  or  in  the  bushes  and  woodbine 
drooping  over  the  water.  It  is  but  a  small  and  simple 
structure,  made  of  a  few  dry  grass  stems,  sometimes  sedgy 
plants,  and  often  lined  with  a  few  hairs.  The  eggs, 
usually  four  or  five  in  number,  are  something  similar  to  a 
Whitethroat's  egg,  and  about  the  same  size,  but  are  more 
clouded,  and  generally  streaked  with  deep  brown.  Some 
specimens  are  beautifully  marbled  over  with  olive  green. 
The  old  birds  leave  their  charge  as  silently  as  possible, 
as  is  the  case  with  all  birds  of  the  family  of  Warblers, 
and  by  this  means  the  nest,  appearing  as  it  often  does 
but  a  tuft  of  withered  grass,  is  very  often  passed  un- 
noticed by  an  intruder. 

As  the  Sedge  Warbler  appears  to  lose  his  notes 
after  the  young  reach  maturity,  and  as  he  is  such  a  shy 
and  retiring  little  creature,  it  is  difficult  to  say  when  he 
leaves  us.  But  as  I  always  fail  to  find  him  in  places 
most  favoured  by  his  presence  in  September,  I  conclude 
that  he  leaves  us  for  the  south  during  the  latter  part  of 
August. 


THE   GOLD-CRESTED  KINGLET. 

THE  little  Gold  Crest  is  a  notable  bird,  inasmuch 
as  he  is  the  smallest  feathered  creature  found  in 
Britain.  His  small  size  in  no  way  diminishes  his  beauty, 
and  he  boasts  a  crest  brighter  than  any  other  British 
songster,  save  indeed  his  near  relation  the  Fire  Crest. 
He  frequents  the  fir  woods  and  plantations,  also  the 
birch  coppices  and  shubberies,  and,  though  seemingly 
frail  and  delicate,  braves  all  the  rigours  of  our  northern 
winter  with  apparent  comfort. 

The  Gold  Crest  being  such  a  small  and  frail  little 
creature,  we  should  suppose  would  delay  its  nesting 
duties  until  the  middle  of  summer ;  but  this  is  not  so. 
I  am  convinced  that  birds  rear  their  young  at  times  when 
the  food  which  brings  them  to  maturity  occurs  in  greatest 
abundance.  The  food  of  the  Gold  Crest  consists  for  the 


THE   GOLD-CRESTED  KINGLET.  121 

most  part  of  the  insects  abounding  amongst  the  buds  and 
t  \vigs  of  trees,  as  well  as  those  flying  through  the  air, 
hence  his  food  is  always  attainable  (and  this  doubtless  is 
the  reason  he  remains  throughout  the-  winter  months), 
and  his  young  can  be  reared  so  early  in  the  season. 

The  fir  woods  and  deepest  shrubberies  are  the  breed- 
ing grounds  of  the  Gold  Crest.  Early,  very  early  in 
April,  sometimes  even  in  March,  we  hear  the  love  song  of 
the  male,  perhaps  as  he  hangs  suspended  and  head  down- 
wards from  a  drooping  spray,  or  amongst  the  gloomy 
branches  hidden  from  view,  or  not  unfrequently  when  fly- 
ing through  the  air.  The  song  itself  is  a  shrill  though 
pleasing  one,  and  when  coupled  with  the  plaintive  notes  of 
the  Willow  Warbler,  forms  music  as  rich  and  sweet  as 
any  the  grove  can  boast.  The  nest  of  this  species~4s  as 
charming  in  its  beauty  as  its  little  owners.  It  is  most 
frequently  placed  upon  the  drooping  end  of  a  fir  bough, 
or  sometimes  amongst  the  feathery  foliage  of  the  yew. 
Picture  to  yourself  a  green  mossy  Chaffinch's  nest  with- 
out the  lichens,  and  you  have  a  tolerably  good  idea  of 
the  Gold  Crest's  cradle,  with  this  exception,  that  the  nest 
is  partially  a  domed  one.  The  foliage  on  the  selected 
branch  is  woven  skilfully  amongst  the  materials  of  the 
nest.  It  is  lined  with  a  thick  and  downy  bed  of  feathers, 
and  the  eggs  are  from  five  to  eight  in  number.  As  you 
may  suppose,  the  eggs  are  very  small,  far  smaller  than  a 
Wren's,  and  of  a  delicate  reddish-white,  speckled  with 
tiny  red  marks,  although  some  specimens  are  pure  and 
spotless.  Mimicry  is  the  Gold  Crest's  form  of  protective 
instinct,  and  note  how  well  she  follows  it,  her  nest  appear- 
ing nought  but  a  tangled  mass  of  foliage.  The  Gold 
Crest  is  also  a  close  sitter,  and  one  of  the  most  trustful 
birds  whilst  nesting  that  I  am  acquainted  with  ;  for  the 
mother  bird  will  often  only  quit  her  home  when  the 


122  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


branch  which  sustains  it  is  shaken  violently,  and  even 
then  she  goes  but  a  little  distance  away,  so  that  you  have 
good  opportunity  of  examining  the  parent  and  her 
handiwork  at  the  same  time.  You  would  probably  think 
that  so  many  young  birds  in  so  small  a  nest  are  hard 
pressed  for  room,  yet  this  is  never  so  ;  and  if  you  ex- 
amine them  closely  you  find  all  comfortable  and  con- 
tented in  their  mossy  home,  which  is  swayed  hither  and 
thither  by  every  breeze  that  murmurs  through  the  pine 
woods  in  its  passage  from  the  hills  above,  awaiting  the 
advent  of  their  parents  with  food. 

The  food  of  the  Gold  Crest  is  composed  partly  of 
animal  and  partly  of  vegetable  substances,  although  the 
former  largely  predominates.  Insects  of  all  kinds  inhabit- 
ing trees  are  preyed  upon,  and  also  those  flying  through 
the  air,  which  the  birds  secure  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  Flycatcher,  by  sallying  into  the  air.  In  the  autumn 
months  various  small  seeds  are  eaten,  as  the  birch  and 
heather,  and  many  of  the  smaller  berries. 

It  is  in  the  balmy  days  of  autumn  that  we  have  the 
best  opportunity  of  studying  the  motions  of  the  Gold 
Crest.  It  is  then  and  throughout  the  winter  that  we  see 
them  in  the  hedgerows.  The  birds  almost  invariably 
keep  in  pairs,  and  flit  from  bush  to  bush,  now  in  the 
centre,  now  on  its  topmost  spray,  then  again  diving 
into  its  leafy  depths,  our  only  sign  of  its  presence  being 
the  trembling  twigs  which  mark  out  its  course.  If  you 
seriously  alarm  them  you  find  they  at  once  seek  seclusion 
amongst  the  thickest  foliage,  and  there  remain  for  some 
considerable  time.  But  it  is  in  the  birch  woods,  when 
October's  mellow  month  paints  those  lovely  trees  in 
yellow  of  the  brightest  dye,  that  we  notice  these  charm- 
ing little  creatures  in  greatest  abundance.  There  we 
see  them  in  pairs  or  little  parties  exploring  the  twigs  of 


THE   GOLD-CRESTED  KINGLET.  123 


the  birch  for  insects,  and  sometimes  ejecting  the  seeds 
like  the  Titmouse.  Their  low,  sweet,  but  singularly 
piercing  call  notes  are  heard  in  all  directions.  You  look 
to  the  oak  tree,  standing  forth  in  solitary  grandeur,  and 
think  they  are  there,  but  you  cannot  perceive  them  ; 
you  scan  the  branches  of  a  distant  shrub,  and  think  you 
have  found  them  at  last,  but  in  vain.  Indeed,  they  appear 
to  be  wherever  you  happen  to  direct  your  attention ;  their 
notes  are  so  shrill  and  piercing,  ay,  almost  as  much  so  as 
the  cries  of  the  bat  winnowing  his  way  through  the  still 
air  of  a  summer  evening  ;  while  after  all  they  are  within 
a  few  yards  of  you,  it  may  be  feet,  probably  exploring 
the  branches  of  the  tree  beside  which  you  are  standing. 
Sometimes  the  sunlight  catches  on  their  fiery  streak  of 
plumage  on  the  crown  of  the  head,  causing  it  to  shine 
with  metallic  splendour  like  burnished  gold.  Now  they 
hop  from  branch  to  branch ;  then,  fluttering  in  the  air, 
they  catch  a  passing  insect,  and  with  feeble  though 
piercing  notes  pass  on  to  the  next  bush,  for  they  seem 
to  prefer  the  lower  branches  and  bushes  to  the  tops  of 
the  trees,  though  if  repeatedly  disturbed  they  take  refuge 
in  the  tallest  trees.  Now  they  hang  suspended  from  a 
long  slender  twig,  their  weight  causing  it  to  swing  to  and 
fro  with  graceful  motion  ;  and  then  on  fluttering  pinion 
they  hover  above  some  tempting  seed  case  or  bud,  which 
promises  to  reward  their  search.  Now  they  drop  silently 
into  the  heather  and  explore  its  wiry  branches  in  search 
of  seeds  and  insects,  or  chase  each  other  in  sportive 
glee,  darting  like  animated  meteors  through  the  branches. 
Now  they  alight  in  the  gorse  bushes  and  hop  from  spray 
to  spray,  their  lovely  crests  appearing  like  the  golden 
blooms.  As  the  males,  conspicuous  by  their  brighter 
crests,  course  over  the  twigs,  they  sometimes,  autumn 
though  it  be,  burst  out  into  song,  and  utter  a  few  notes 


124  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 

of  matchless  beauty.  Ever  in  motion,  like  the  Tits,  birds 
by  the  way  they  most  closely  resemble  in  habits  and 
motions,  truly  they  are  engaging  little  creatures,  and 
their  trustfulness  is  probably  greater  than  any  other 
feathered  denizen  of  the  grove. 

In  the  autumn  and  winter  months  our  resident  Gold 
Crests  are  largely  increased  in  numbers  by  birds  from  the 
cold  and  dreary  north.  Though  this  species  cannot  be 
called  gregarious,  it  is  eminently  a  social  one,  for  not  only 
does  it  associate  with  its  own  kind,  but  with  the  Tits,  the 
Willow  Warblers,  and  other  little  songsters,  although  at 
the  close  of  day  you  seldom  or  never  see  more  than  a  pair 
roost  in  company.  In  the  autumn  and  winter  the  peren- 
nial foliage  of  the  evergreen  is  their  only  roosting-place 
at  night. 


GREAT   TITMOUSE. 


THE  GREAT  TITMOUSE  A\D  BLUE 
TITMOUSE. 

You  may  easily  recognise  a  Titmouse,  no  matter  of 
what  species,  from  any  other  bird  that  frequents  the 
trees  and  hedgerows,  by  its  incessant  activity,  and  the 
infinite  variety  of  the  attitudes  it  assumes.  The  Great 
Titmouse,  or  Ox  Eye,  as  he  is  otherwise  called,  is  a  well- 
known  and  very  handsome  bird.  He  is  not  quite  the 
size  of  a  Sparrow,  and  you  can  instantly  recognise  him 


126  RURAL   BIRD  L7FE. 


by  the  broad  streak  of  black  plumage  which  reaches 
from  the  chest  to  the  vent.  He  is  found  commonly  in 
woods,  plantations,  shrubberies,  gardens,  and  orchards  ; 
we  also  see  him  on  the  hedgerows  in  the  autumn  and 
winter  months  most  frequently  ;  but  in  the  upland  wild 
he  is  never  found,  the  presence  of  trees  and  shrubs  being 
imperative  to  his  haunt. 

The  motions  of  the  Great  Titmouse  are  varied  in  the 
extreme.  See  with  what  nicety  he  poises  himself,  now 
legs  uppermost,  now  the  reverse,  now  nimbly  running 
over  a  rugged  branch,  occasionally  stopping  to  utter  his 
harsh  grating  call  notes.  Picture  to  yourself,  gentle 
reader,  the  sound  made  in  sharpening  a  saw  with  a  three 
square  file,  and  you  have  a  tolerably  good  idea  of  one  of 
his  various  notes.  Now  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree,  in  an 
instant  on  its  topmost  spray,  then  back  again  into  the 
thickest  branches.  In  a  word,  this  sprightly,  active,  and 
amusing  little  chorister  explores  every  nook  and  cranny, 
and  drags  from  their  lurking  places  the  countless 
numbers  of  injurious  insects  which  would,  if  left,  in- 
crease so  rapidly  as  to  ultimately  destroy  the  tree  that 
sustains  them.  Great  Tits  are  invariably  found  in  pairs, 
although  they  associate  with  their  own  and  other  species 
indiscriminately :  still,  if  you  observe  them  closely,  you 
find  that  they  arrive  in  pairs  and  in  pairs  depart.  When 
observing  this  active  little  creature,  you  would  not  for  a 
moment  suppose  him  to  be  guilty  of  destroying  other 
little  birds,  for  the  purpose  of  feeding  on  them  ;  yet  he 
undoubtedly  does  so,  pecking  at  his  victims  with  his 
strong  little  bill  until  he  kills  them,  when  he  takes  out 
the  brains  and  a  little  of  the  flesh  off  the  breast.  His 
principal  food,  however,  is  confined  to  insects  and  their 
larvae,  and  various  kinds  of  the  smaller  seeds.  You 
often  hear,  whilst  wandering  through  districts  haunted 


THE  GREAT  TITMOUSE  AND  BLUE  TITMOUSE.  127 

by  the  Great  Tit,  a  loud  tapping  noise  which  puts  you  in 
mind  of  the  Woodpecker,  only  the  sounds  are  not  so 
loud.  If  you  search  closely  around  you  will  probably 
see  a  Great  Tit  clinging  with  his  strong  claws  to  a 
decayed  limb  and  hammering  at  the  bark,  to  get  at 
some  insect  or  its  larvae  lurking  in  the  crevices. 

The  Great  Titmouse  does  not  possess  any  song, 
although  some  of  his  varied  notes  are  very  sweet  and 
pleasant.  In  the  early  months  of  the  year,  when  the 
winds  of  March  are  drying  up  the  saturated  lands,  the 
bird  is  heard  uttering  his  only  approach  to  melody.  A 
few  low  sweet  notes,  varied  by  harsh  and  grating  ones, 
many  of  them  sounding  like  the  tinkling  of  a  bell, 
compose  his  love  song.  Yet  when  once  the  site  for  the 
nest  is  chosen,  he  and  his  mate  become  much  more  silent, 
shy,  and  retiring  birds,  and  continue  so  throughout  the 
nesting  season.  The  site  of  her  nest  varys  considerably  : 
she  will  make  it  in  a  hole  in  a  wall  ;  she  will  repair  to 
the  trees,  and  build  it  in  a  hole  in  their  trunks  ;  she  will 
visit  the  old  abode  of  the  magpie,  and  build  it  inside 
that ;  or,  stranger  still,  she  will  not  unfrequently  weave 
it  amongst  the  crevices  of  the  sticks  of  the  Rook's  nest, 
both  birds  living  in  perfect  harmony  together.  It  is 
made  of  moss  and  dry  grass,  and  lined  with  a  thick  and 
soft  bed  of  feathers.  If  the  nest  be  made  inside  a 
deserted  Magpie's  or  amongst  the  sticks  of  a  Rook's  nest, 
you  find  it  is  domed  like  the  House  Sparrow's  when  in  a 
similar  situation,  but  if  in  the  hole  of  a  tree  or  wall  it  is 
open,  and  much  more  loosely  made.  The  eggs  of  the 
Great  Titmouse  are  from  five  to  eight  in  number,  and 
are  about  the  size  of  a  Whitethroat's,  pure  white,  when 
blown,  in  ground  colour  spotted  with  reddish-brown. 
Both  birds  sit  upon  the  eggs,  and  one  brings  the  other 
food  when  so  engaged.  The  young  birds  are  fed  almost 


128  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


entirely  on  caterpillars  and  grubs,  which  the  old  birds 
obtain  from  the  neighbouring  trees  and  bushes.  When 
able  to  fly,  I  believe  their  parents  abandon  them,  and 
very  often  rear  another  brood. 

In  the  autumn  months  the  Great  Tit  frequents  the 
birch  woods  in  greatest  abundance,  where  you  see  them 
feeding  on  the  insects  abounding  amongst  the  slender 
twigs,  or  eating  the  tiny  seeds.  You  also  find  that  it 
delights  to  frequent  the  topmost  branches,  and  that  it  is 
far  more  wary  than  any  other  member  of  the  family, 
save,  indeed,  the  wild  loving  Marsh  Tit. 

The  Blue  Titmouse,  of  all  members  of  this  active 
group  of  birds,  is  the  best  known,  and  probably  the 
oftenest  seen  and  of  the  commonest  occurrence.  There 
is  hardly  a  wood,  plantation,  field,  orchard,  garden,  or 
hedgerow,  that  does  not  contain  him  at  some  period  of 
the  year.  In  size  he  is  rather  smaller  than  the  Great 
Titmouse,  and  his  plumage  is  slightly  different.  The 
delicate  azure  blue  which  pervades  much  of  his  plumage 
is  perhaps  unequalled  in  the  loveliness  of  its  tint,  and  the 
manner  in  which  his  other  colouring  is  distributed  causes 
him  to  be  a  bird  of  no  mean  degree  of  beauty. 

The  notes  of  the  Blue  Titmouse  are  varied,  some  of 
them  being  harsh  and  monotonous,  while  others  are 
pleasing,  many  of  them  resembling  the  call  notes  of  the 
Gold-crested  Kinglet.  No  song  escapes  from  him  in 
the  vernal  year,  when  almost  every  other  feathered 
tenant  of  the  woods  is  overflowing  with  music.  He  is 
perhaps  more  noisy  than  usual,  and  that  is  all.  His 
mate,  however,  experiences  as  much  pleasure  from  his 
harsh  and  grating  calls,  as  the  mate  of  the  sweetest 
warbler  does  from  the  delightful  trills  of  her  spouse. 

In  the  early  months  of  the  year  you  often  see  the 
Blue  Titmouse  searching  out  a  nesting-site.  The  birds 


THE  GREAT  TITMOUSE  AND  BLUE  TITMOUSE.  129 


so  engaged  are  young  ones,  for  be  it  known  the  old  birds, 
if  left  unmolested,  will  return  yearly  to  their  nesting- 
hole.  You  see  them  clinging  to  walls,  exploring  the 
holes  and  crannies,  and  they  will  sometimes  enlarge  the 
entrance  to  a  selected  hole  by  pulling  out  the  bits  of 
plaster.  But  the  1  lue  Titmouse  nests  in  other  places 
besides  walls  :  in  the  holes  of  trees  and  decayed  stumps, 
and  not  unfrequently  in  gate-posts  or  even  pumps.  The 
nest,  as  is  usual  with  birds  nesting  in  holes,  is  a  loose 
and  slovenly  structure,  made  of  moss  and  dry  grass, 
and  lined  with  wool,  hair,  and  feathers.  The  eggs  of 
the  Blue  Titmouse  are  from  five  to  eight  in  number, 
sometimes,  indeed,  we  find  a  dozen  or  even  more.  They 
are  like  those  of  the  Great  Tit,  only  rather  smaller,  and 
the  markings,  perhaps,  are  not  quite  so  bold.  Pugnacious 
motions  are  displayed  by  the  birds  when  their  nest  is 
approached.  You  can  seldom  or  never  drive  the  sitting 
bird  from  its  charge.  Bravely  it  remains  upon  it,  and 
by  hissing,  puffing  up  its  plumage,  biting,  and  fluttering, 
endeavours  to  repel  you  from  its  home.  So  closely 
does  the  sitting  bird  imitate  the  warning  hiss  of  a  snake, 
that  when  trying  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  nest  and 
its  contents,  I  have  started  back  in  alarm,  fearful  that 
instead  of  a  nest  and  eggs  the  wall  contained  some 
poisonous  reptile.  If  you  take  the  bird  in  your  hand  its 
courage  is  none  the  less,  for,  erecting  its  crest,  it  views 
you  with  eyes  that  seem  to  speak  of  the  anger  lurking 
within,  and  attacks  you  right  courageously  with  its  beak. 
Both  birds  assist  in  hatching  the  eggs,  and  when  their 
extensive  family  is  hatched  the  exertions  of  the  parent 
birds  are  great  to  keep  all  the  little  mouths  supplied. 
When  the  young  can  quit  the  nest  they  still  keep  in 
company  with  their  parents,  who  feed  and  tend  them  for 
some  considerable  time. 

K 


130  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


It  is  a  pleasing  sight  to  see  a  brood  of  young  Blue 
Tits  and  their  parents  exploring  the  trees  for  food. 
Perched  in  every  conceivable  attitude,  the  little  creatures 
search  each  twig  and  branch  for  their  insect  food  :  hop- 
ping, fluttering,  creeping,  and  swinging  to  and  fro,  there 
is  not  a  part  that  promises  to  reward  their  search  but 
what  is  visited.  Insects,  however,  do  not  compose  their 
food  entirely,  for  vegetable  substances,  as  seeds  and  buds, 
are  eaten.  In  the  winter  they  will  visit  the  then  leafless 
pear  trees  and  prey  upon  any  of  the  fruit  which  may 
happen  to  have  withstood  the  blasts  of  November. 
Caterpillars  also  form  no  small  item  of  their  food.  Both 
Great  Tit  and  Blue  Tit  will  search  the  ground  for  food, 
as  well  as  the  trees  and  hedgerows,  the  shrubs,  walls, 
and  fences.  When  the  ground  has  been  newly  manured 
you  see  them  feeding  on  the  insects,  grubs,  and  beetles 
amongst  the  manure,  and  even  eating  the  refuse  of  the 
slaughterhouse,  picking  the  bones  and  dragging  at  the 
putrid  flesh  with  as  much  zest  as  the  Rooks  and  Mag- 
pies. 

Parties  of  Blue  Titmice  are  seldom  seen  after  the 
month  of  January,  when  the  old  birds  repair  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  their  nesting-sites,  and  the  young  ones  pair 
and  set  out  in  search  of  nesting-places.  I  should  men- 
tion that  both  the  birds  here  treated  of  are  resident 
with  us  throughout  the  year,  as,  indeed,  are  all  other 
members  of  this  active  group  of  birds.  Summer  and 
winter  alike,  their  actions  may  be  observed,  but  perhaps 
to  the  best  advantage  when  November's  blasts  have  bared 
the  trees  of  their  leafy  covering :  then  we  have  the  best 
opportunity  of  observing  the  many,  varied,  and  grotesque 
attitudes  they  assume  when  searching  for  their  prey. 


COLE  TITMOUSE  AND  LONG-TAILED  TITMOUSE.  131 


THE    COLE    TITMOUSE  AND   LONG-TAILED 
TITMOUSE. 

BY  a  close  attention  to  the  notes  of  this  engaging 
group  of  birds  the  observer  will  be  enabled  to  instantly 
identify  them,  even  though  the  birds  themselves  are 
obscured  from  view.  He  will  find  that  each  species, 
though  the  notes  of  all  are  very  similar,  utters  notes 
peculiar  to  itself  alone.  He  will  find  that  the  Ox  Eye's 
notes  are  the  loudest  and  most  peculiar  ;  the  Blue  Tit's 
are  harsh  and  garrulous,  though  often  indescribably  low 
and  sweet  ;  the  Cole  Tit's  different  still  ;  while  the 
Marsh  Tit's  cry  is  but  little  varied,  and  does  not  resemble 
the  notes  of  any  other  Titmouse  ;  and  the  long-tailed 
species  again  possesses  notes  strictly  its  own.  It  is  to 
the  casual  ear  alone  that  all  their  notes  are  alike  ;  but 
to  the  ear  of  the  ornithologist  each  note  is  different,  and 
each  cry  instantly  proclaims  the  species  of  its  owner  with 
unerring  certainty. 

The  Cole  Titmouse  is  a  handsome  bird,  with  jet 
black  head  and  white  cheeks  :  you  can  always  tell  him 
from  the  Marsh  Tit  by  the  patch  of  white  plumage  on 
the  nape  of  the  neck  and  by  his  peculiar  notes.  Cole 
Tits  frequent  the  woods,  coppices,  plantations,  parks, 
and  gardens,  and  are  most  frequently  found  in  pairs. 
Perhaps  their  motions,  though  partaking  of  those  of  the 
Titmice  in  general,  are  more  rapid  than  other  members 
of  the  family.  You  sometimes  see  them  dart  through 


1 32  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

the  foliage  with  great  rapidity,  chasing  each  other  ap- 
parently in  sportive  glee,  There  is  not  a  tree  or  bush 
but  what  the  Cole  Tit  will  visit  it.  Now  hanging  from 
the  long  pendent  branches  of  the  graceful  birch,  now 
searching  the  thorny  sprays  of  the  hawthorn,  now  on 
the  topmost  branches  of  the  oak  or  ash,  then  onwards 
to  the  drooping  elm.  Now  on  the  lowly  twigs  of  the 
hazel  or  elder  bushes  ;  then  the  evergreens  in  turn  are 
visited,  and  even  the  ground  ivy,  too,  is  frequently  ex- 
plored. A  favourite  place  to  meet  with  the  Cole  Tit  is 
on  the  spreading  branches  of  the  fir  tree,  notably  those 
which  are  studded  with  cones.  There  you  see  him 
dexterously  ejecting  the  tiny  seeds  from  their  scaly  bed, 
the  bird  very  often  clinging  to  the  cone,  it  may  be  on 
the  extremity  of  a  slender  twig,  and  its  active  motions 
causing  the  branch  and  its  living  burthen  to  sway  back- 
wards and  forwards  like  the  steady  beat  of  a  pendulum. 
A  merry  little  party  of  wanderers  they  are,  and  busying 
themselves  with  their  own  affairs  alone.  When  the  sun 
nears  the  western  horizon  the  Cole  Tits,  if  it  be  winter 
time,  repair  to  the  verdant  branches  of  the  evergreen  for 
repose,  or  sometimes  seek  shelter  in  the  warm  side  of  a 
haystack,  always  seeking  that  side  opposite  to  the  direc- 
tion Li  which  the  wind  is  blowing. 

It  is  early  in  the  vernal  year  when  we  hear  the  Cole 
Tit's  love  song — a  performance  scarcely  deserving  the 
name,  it  is  true,  but  which,  however,  is  perhaps  the 
closer  approach  to  a  song  than  the  like  notes  of  any 
other  Titmouse.  The  nest  of  the  Cole  Tit  is  found 
in  holes  of  trees  principally,  but  sometimes  a  hole  in  a 
wall  will  be  selected.  It  is  in  the  birch  woods  that 
the  Cole  Tits,  and  in  fact  all  the  other  members  of  the 
family,  congregate  to  breed  in  greatest  numbers.  The 
reason  for  this  is  the  abundance  of  holes  suitable  for 


COLE  TITMOUSE  AND  LONG-TAILED  TITMOUSE.  133 

nesting  purposes,  and  the  vast  quantities  of  insect  food 
which  there  abound.  He  who  roams  through  these 
situations  win  find  that  these  woods  are  full  of  decayed 
timbers  ;  and  the  immense  numbers  of  gigantic  fungi 
also  form  one  of  the  principal  features  of  the  scene 
before  him.  Here,  it  may  be  where  a  giant  limb  has 
fallen  in  premature  decay,  leaving  a  hollow  cavity  in 
the  parent  stem,  or  where  a  trunk  has  been  riven  up 
by  the  fury  of  the  wintry  blasts,  the  Cole  Tit  builds  her 
nest  As  is  usual  with  the  Titmice,  the  nest  is  but  a 
loose  and  rambling  structure,  made  of  moss,  dry  grass, 
and  feathers,  and  the  eggs  are  from  five  to  seven  in 
number,  like  those  of  the  Blue  Titmouse,  only  a  little 
smaller.  Cole  Tits  will  hiss  and  bite,  and  display  various 
other  pugnacious  motions  in  defending  their  eggs  or 
young,  and  the  utmost  difficulty  is  experienced  in  causing 
them  to  quit  the  nesting-hole. 

The  food  of  the  Cole  Titmouse  is  partly  animal  and 
partly  vegetable  matter.  In  the  spring  and  summer 
insects  and  their  larvae  are  sought  after  with  unceasing 
vigilance.  You  sometimes  see  them  exploring  old  walls 
for  spiders,  small  beetles,  and  larvae.  In  the  autumn 
and  winter  months  the  insects  become  scarcer,  and  the 
birds  partly  subsist  on  birch,  fir,  and  other  small  seeds. 

Before  leaving  the  Cole  Titmouse  I  should  mention 
that  a  few  years  back-  the  bird  was  almost  a  rarity,  and 
the  Marsh  Tit  abounded.  Now  the  reverse  occurs,  and 
the  Cole  Tit  is  found  commonly  in  the  haunts  of  the 
other  Titmice,  and  the  Marsh  species  is  becoming  rarer 
every  season.  The  matter  may  be  partly  explained 
thus.  The  Cole  Titmouse  appears  to  be  a  bird  of 
civilisation,  the  Marsh  Titmouse  a  bird  of  the  marshy 
uncultivated  places.  Therefore  as  the  land  gets  reclaimed 
from  its  primeval  state,  and  drainage  and  tree  planting 


134  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


advance,  the  one  advances  and  the  other  retreats  still 
further  into  the  wild.  The  case  is  analogous  with  that 
of  the  Bittern,  the  Stork,  the  Bustard,  and  the  vast 
hordes  of  waterfowl,  which  in  like  manner  have  re- 
treated, and  other  birds  more  homely  and  social  have 
taken  their  place. 

The  Long-tailed  Titmouse  is  the  smallest  of  this 
active  family,  and  an  engaging  and  pretty  little  creature 
he  is.  At  first  sight  he  appears  but  a  tiny  ball  of 
feathers,  shapeless,  though  animated,  with  one  long 
feather  by  way  of  tail.  Yet  if  we  examine  him  closely 
his  delicate  rosy  plumage  comes  out  in  rich  contrast  to 
his  darker  markings  ;  his  form,  though  small  in  size,  is 
perfect,  and  well  adapted  to  his  ways  of  life,  and  what 
really  appears  as  one  long  feather,  is  in  reality  a  perfect 
tail.  The  Long-tailed  Tit  is  found  in  much  the  same 
places  as  the  other  members  of  the  family,  though  he 
appears  to  show  a  decided  preference  for  woods,  thickets, 
shrubberies,  and  the  densest  hedgerows. 

If  you  observe  them  after  the  vernal  equinox  you 
wfll  invariably  find  them  in  pairs,  for  their  nesting  season 
is  close  at  hand.  Unlike  any  other  species  of  Titmouse, 
properly  so  called,  the  Long-tailed  Tit  builds  a  nest  in  the 
branches  of  trees  and  shrubs — a  nest  of  matchless  beauty, 
too,  and  which  costs  the  little  owners  at  least  a  fortnight's 
incessant  labour  to  complete.  It  is  most  frequently 
placed  amidst  the  branches  of  the  ever  verdant  holly. 
It  is  domed,  and  a  small  hole  in  the  side  near  the  top 
admits  the  little  owners.  Its  materials  consist  of  the 
greenest  moss,  lichens,  and  cobwebs,  and  lined  with  an 
immense  number  of  feathers  and  hairs.  Mimicry  is  the 
Long-tailed  Tit's  form  of  protective  instinct,  and  well 
does  she  practise  it.  Perhaps — nay  the  matter  is  without 
a  doubt — the  nest  of  this  little  creature  is  the  finest  piece 


COLE  TITMOUSE  AND  LONG-TAILED  TITMOUSE.  135 

of  nest- building  found  in  Britain,  and  probably  amongst 
all  the  army  of  feathered  architects  throughout  the 
world,  but  few,  if  any,  excel  it.  The  eggs  of  the  Long- 
tailed  Tit  are  small,  and  pure  white  in  ground  colour, 
faintly,  very  faintly,  speckled  with  a  few  red  markings. 
They  are  from  six  to  ten  in  number,  but  probably  eight 
are  most  frequently  found.  The  young  birds  when  able 
to  fly  still  keep  in  the  company  of  their  parents,  and 
remain  in  company  throughout  the  autumn  and  winter 
months.  Thus  we  may  infer  that  but  one  brood  is 
reared  in  the  year. 

Few  things  to  me  are  more  pleasing  than  to  observe 
a  company  of  Long-tailed  Titmice  searching  the  leafless 
trees  in  winter  for  food.  Keeping  close  together,  they 
explore  every  branch,  bud,  and  twig,  with  true  Tit-like 
pertinacity.  Now  the  lower  bushes  and  shrubs  arc  the 
subject  of  investigation  ;  then  the  topmost  branches  of 
the  forest  trees,  even  the  hedgerows,  in  their  turn,  are 
visited,  the  whole  party  flitting  from  tree  to  tree  in  one 
long  straggling  train.  You  cannot  separate  them  ;  all 
flock  together,  seeming  to  delight  in  each  other's  company, 
and  the  air  around  is  laden  with  their  shrill  twittering 
call  notes.  A  wandering  party  they  are,  too  ;  here  one 
day,  miles  away  the  next.  Having  no  fixed  haunt,  the 
whole  woodlands  are  their  pastures,  arid  their  wanderings 
doubtless  extend  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the 
other,  if  not  over  the  briny  deep  itself.  Their  food  is 
everywhere,  provided  trees  and  shrubs  abound ;  for 
insects  innumerable  lurk  amongst  the  buds  and  bark, 
and  it  is  the  duty  of  the  Titmouse  to  search  them  out  - 
a  duty  which  is  well  and  effectually  performed.  Small 
seeds,  too,  are  eaten,  notably  those  of  the  birch.  The 
Long-tailed  Titmouse,  in  winter,  roosts  amongst  the 
branches  of  the  evergreen.  The  statement  that  these 


136  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


birds  huddle  together,  when  roosting,  for  warmth,  is  an 
erroneous  one — no  bird  in  the  creation,  whether  large  or 
small,  roosts  in  such  a  manner,  be  they  ever  so  social  or 
gregarious  in  their  habits.  Early  in  the  'spring  these 
parties  of  Long-tailed  Titmice  separate  into  pairs,  and 
the  original  parents  go  off  in  company  for  the  purpose 
of  rearing  another  brood  ;  for  be  it  known  this  species  is 
undoubtedly  a  life-paired  one,  although  it  does  not  return 
to  the  same  nest  yearly,  but  doubtless  a  new  nest  is 
made  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their  previous 
one. 


WAGTAILS. 

As  we  stroll  over  the  pasture  lands  in  summer  we 
ofttimes  notice  a  little  bird  nimbly  running  hither  and 
thither  round  the  feeding  cattle,  occasionally  uttering  a 
sharp  note,  and  incessantly  jerking  its  tail  with  a  fan- 
like  motion.  As  we  approach  nearer  it  stops  and  looks  at 
us  suspiciously,  and  then,  uttering  a  note  of  alarm,  moves 
in  undulating  flight  for  a  short  distance,  and  alights,  to 
await  our  approach,  when  it  again  takes  wing,  to  again 


i3«  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


alight  some  little  distance  away  as  before.  But  we  have 
had  time  to  notice  it,  and  by  its  black  and  white  plumage 
and  peculiar  motions  we  know  at  once  it  is  the  Pied 
Wagtail,  a  bird  so  commonly  met  with  in  almost  every 
pasture  field,  on  the  country  roads,  or  by  the  banks  of 
the  streamlets,  rivers,  ponds,  and  lakes, 

Though  the  Pied  Wagtail  may  justly  be  called  a  mi- 
gratory species,  for  in  October  they  congregate  in  parties 
and  small  flocks  and  wing  their  way  southward,  still  a  few 
remain  permanently  with  us  throughout  the  year.  In  the 
late  autumn  days  we  see  them  following  the  plough  ; 
while  in  the  depth  of  winter  we  occasionally  see  one  or 
two  on  the  manure  heaps  searching  for  small  beetles,  or 
hear  their  cheery  notes  as  they  fly  through  the  air  in 
search  of  some  oasis  in  the  snowy  waste  affording  them 
food  and  shelter.  They  return,  however,  to  their  old 
haunts  very  early  in  the  season.  By  the  third  week  in 
March,  and  long  before  the  Swallow  or  the  Blackcap 
arrives,  we  see  them,  still  in  flocks,  upon  the  newly 
ploughed  land,  exceedingly  tame,  and  daintily  running 
up  the  newly-turned  furrows,  gracefully  fanning  their 
tails,  and  uttering  their  sharp  peculiar  call  notes.  Thus 
we  see  the  Wagtail,  besides  being  a  migratory  species,  is 
also  partially  gregarious — a  habit  common  to  but  very 
few  of  the  soft-billed  choristers. 

But  as  spring  time  arrives  the  Wagtails  separate  into 
pairs,  and  spread  themselves  here  and  there  in  suitable 
localities,  frequenting  them  throughout  the  summer. 
The  Pied  Wagtail  pairs  annually,  and  thus  seeks  out  a 
fresh  nesting-site  every  successive  year  ;  but  though 
paired  so  early,  spring  is  merging  into  summer  ere  we 
find  their  nest.  In  the  matter  of  nesting  the  Wagtail 
is  a  strictly  terrestrial  bird,  its  nest  being  always  on  the 
ground,  or  in  crevices  of  rocks  and  walls.  Sometimes  it 


WAGTAILS.  139 


is  placed  far  under  the  shelter  of  a  convenient  stone  ; 
at  other  times  under  a  tile  in  the  brick-fields,  or  even  in 
a  drain-pipe  their  nest  is  frequently  found.     It  is  made 
merely  of  dry  grass,   occasionally   a   little   moss,   and 
sometimes   lined  with   a  few  hairs.     The  eggs,  four  or 
five  in   number,  are  about  the  size  of  a  Sparrow's,  and 
bluish-white,    speckled    and    blotched    with   ashy-gray. 
Young  Wagtails  stay   in  their  parents'  company  some 
time  after  they   quit   the   nest  ;  indeed,  in  some  cases 
they   keep    company   right   through    the   autumn    and 
winter  months.     It  is  a  pleasing  sight  to  see  a  brood  of 
young  Wagtails  and  their  parents.     The  little  creatures, 
some  time  before  they  are  able  to  fly,  will  leave  the  nest 
and  wait  patiently  the  arrival  of  their  parents  with  food, 
but  upon  the  least  alarm  they  take  refuge  in  the  nesting- 
hole,  as   they  also  do   at    nightfall.     In   the   breeding 
season  the  trustfulness  of  the  Wagtail  is  often  very  con- 
siderable.    I  once  knew  a  Wagtail's  nest  in  a  hole  of  the 
wall  bordering  a  large  sheet   of  water,  in   fact,  the  nest 
was  but  a  few  inches  from  it.     It  contained  four  young 
ones,  which  were  continually  running  in  and  out  of  the 
hole  which  contained  their  nest ;  and  by  keeping  per- 
fectly still,  they  approached   me  closely,  and   I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  old  birds,  undaunted  by  the  baneful 
presence  of  man,  feed  their  offspring  with  a  few  crumbs 
that  I  scattered  for  them.     When  the  young  have  gained 
the  full   use  of  their  wings  the  nest  is  abandoned  for 
ever,  and  we  see  them  on  the  fallow  land  and  pastures. 
Here  they  are  still  fed  by  the  old  birds,  and  it  is  pleasing 
to  observe  the  actions  of  both  old  and  young  at  this 
period.     We   can   instantly  tell  the   young  birds  from 
their  parents  by  their  being  dressed  in   a  garb  much 
lighter,   and  by  the   drooping  wings  with  which  they 
welcome  the  advent  of  the  old   birds  with   food.     See 


RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


them  now  walking,  now  running,  in  all  directions,  making 
sad  havoc  amongst  the  myriads  of  insects.  Gifted  with 
the  acutest  sense  of  sight,  the  Wagtails  distinguish  the 
smallest  insects  at  incredible  distances.  Now  running, 
aided  with  their  wings,  they  capture  an  insect,  and  with 
notes  of  exultation  call  their  young,  nestling  closely  and 
motionless  amongst  the  earth  clods  near  at  hand.  With 
quick  motions  the  little  creatures  bound  forward  and 
receive  the  proffered  food  with  the  graceful  actions 
so  prominent  in  this  charming  group  of  sylph-like 
choristers. 

In  spring  time,  when  every  animate  and  inanimate 
object  of  Nature  is  influenced  by  its  balmy  presence,  we 
sometimes  see  the  Wagtail  launch  into  the  air  and  pour 
out  a  short,  sweet,  and  varied  song.  Sometimes  his 
notes  are  poured  forth  as  he  sits  daintly  poised  on  the 
water-encircled  stone,  or  even  when  perched  on  the  top- 
most branches  of  the  tallest  trees.  We  have  yet  to  learn 
much  in  respect  to  the  song  of  birds.  Before  us  is  a 
bird  that  only  sings  at  rare  intervals  ;  in  fact,  this  is 
common  to  this  particular  group  of  birds,  while  his  close 
relations  the  Pipits  warble  incessantly  throughout  the 
spring  and  summer  months. 

It  is  in  the  nest  of  the  Pied  Wagtail  that  the  Cuckoo 
ofttimes  inserts  her  eggs,  and  by  this  we  have  another 
proof  that  the  female  Cuckoo,  after  laying  her  egg,  carries 
it  in  her  bill  or  claws,  and  thus  inserts  it  in  the  selected 
nest ;  for  eggs  of  the  cuckoo  are  often  seen  in  the  nest  of 
the  Wagtail  when  in  situations  totally  impossible  for  the 
bird  to  enter  for  her  purpose. 

When  following  the  plough  the  Wagtail  feeds  on 
the  numberless  small  worms  and  larvae  ;  when  on  the 
pastures,  insects  and  worms  are  preyed  upon  ;  and  when 
by  the  side  of  the  stream  or  lake  they  catch  the  insects 


WAGTAILS.  141 

flying  near  the  water,  and  wade  through  the  shallows  in 
search  of  small  beetles  and  sand-worms.  Ever  and  anon 
the  ever  active  and  vigilant  Wagtails  are  seen  to  sally 
into  the  air,  to  obtain  the  insects  flitting  hither  and  thither 
over  the  placid  surface  of  the  waters.  On  the  sea  shore, 
too,  the  Wagtail  is  frequently  seen  running  nimbly  on 
the  borders  of  the  boundless  deep,  and  feeding  upon  the 
small  marine  animals  which  are  left  in  such  abundance 
by  the  receding  waves. 

Another  species  of  Wagtail  commonly  seen  in  the 
country  is  the  Yellow  Wagtail,  a  bird  differing  both  in 
habits  and  appearance  from  the  Pied  species.  While  we 
see  the  Pied  Wagtail  on  the  pastures,  or  running  nimbly 
by  the  margins  of  lakes  and  streams,  or  even  on  the 
shores  of  the  briny  deep,  we  seldom  see  the  Yellow 
Wagtail  near  the  waters.  He  is  in  fact  a  bird  of  the 
pastures,  on  which  he  almost  exclusively  lives  throughout 
the  season  Nature  has  allotted  him  to  reside  amongst  us. 
It  is  only  when  snow  lies  deep  on  his  favourite  meadow 
and  the  ground  is  hard  frozen  that  we  see  him  on  the 
banks  of  the  streamlets,  unless  they  wander  through  his 
pastoral  haunt :  then,  however,  he  may  be  seen  near 
them  pretty  frequently.  Like  the  Pied  Wagtail,  he 
quits  his  pastures  in  the  late  autumn  months  and  returns 
the  following  spring.  Yellow  Wagtails  are  probably  the 
first  birds,  among  all  the  varied  train  that  speed  here 
with  the  spring,  that  we  see  after  the  chilling  comfortless 
season  of  winter  is  passed.  But  this  migratory  instinct 
is  not  so  imperative  in  the  Yellow  Wagtail  as  in  the 
Swallow,  for  we  sometimes  see  them  running  as  nimbly 
over  the  frozen  snow  as  over  the  grassy  sward  of  mid- 
summer. 

All  Wagtails,  and,  indeed,  many  other  birds,  possess 
the  habit  of  jerking  the  tail  with  an  easy  fanlike  motion. 


142  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


Some  persons  have  most  erroneously,  though  probably 
unintentionally,  advanced  theories  endeavouring  to  show 
us  what  purpose  these  caudal  movements  serve.  They 
have  told  us  that  when  the  Wagtail  jerks  his  tail  it  is  for 
the  purpose  of  disturbing  the  insects  around  him,  just  as 
the  cows  lash  their  tails  to  drive  away  the  troublesome 
flies  ;  with  this  difference,  however,  the  Wagtail  disturbs 
them  for  the  purpose  of  preying  on  them,  and  the  kine 
for  the  purpose  of  driving  them  away.  Now  let  the 
young  naturalist  observe  the  Wagtail,  it  matters  not  of 
what  species,  and  he  will  find  that  these  tail-jerking 
motions  are  present  even  if  the  bird  is  not  in  search  of 
food ;  besides,  a  bird  possessing  such  keen  powers  of  vision 
does  not  require  to  hunt  with  his  tail  for  sustenance.  Did 
this  little  volume  treat  with  the  anatomy  of  birds,  it 
would  be  an  easy  task  to  show  the  cause  of  these  tail- 
jerking  motions ;  but  it  will  suffice  to  say  that  these 
motions,  and  the  extraordinary  length  of  tail  found  in 
this  family  of  birds,  goes  far  to  aid  in  preserving  the  equili- 
brium of  the  bird. 

The  Yellow  Wagtail  is  an  associate  with  the  cattle. 
We  see  them  running  round  them,  under  their  bellies,  or 
even  within  a  few  inches  of  their  mouth,  and  yet  the 
cattle  view  them  not  as  enemies,  nor  attempt  to  drive 
them  away,  for  it  would  seem  they  know  full  well  what 
service  they  derive  from  these  little  songsters.  Insects 
innumerable  torment  them,  and  the  Yellow  Wagtail  is 
busily  employed  ridding  them  of  their  pests.  Now  with 
a  short  call  note  they  launch  into  the  air,  to  secure  an 
insect,  and  then  with  dainty  motions  run  nimbly  for- 
ward to  capture  an  unlucky  beetle.  They  are  not  at 
all  shy,  and,  provided  you  advance  with  caution,  you  can 
approach  and  view  their  actions  when  but  a  few  yards 
away.  When  the  ground  is  being  ploughed  in  early 


WAGTAILS.  143 

spring  the  Yellow  Wagtail  is  at  hand,  running  nimbly  up 
and  down  the  furrows,  catching  the  insects  and  feeding 
upon  the  small  worms  and  beetles.  You  may  see  how 
trustful  he  approaches  when  the  ploughman  rests  his 
horses,  as  if  aware  that  man  looked  favourably  on  his 
actions  ;  and  when  work  is  again  renewed  the  Wagtail 
flies  in  drooping  flight  for  a  few  yards  to  the  rear,  and 
with  a  few  rapid  beats  of  the  tail  again  commences  his 
insect  and  worm-hunting  labours.  I  have  often  ob- 
served, but  cannot  say  whether  the  habit  is  general,  that 
the  Yellow  Wagtail  invariably,  or  nearly  so,  utters  a 
short  jerking  note  upon  taking  wing,  and  the  Pied 
species  only  does  so  occasionally.  The  Yellow  Wag- 
tail is  not  of  a  wandering  disposition,  and,  once  in  a 
pasture,  is  but  rarely  seen  far  away  throughout  the 
summer. 

The  Wagtail  pairs  annually  a  little  after  his  arrival 
in  the  vernal  season,  but  the  nest  is  not  commenced  for 
some  considerable  time  ;  indeed,  he  is  one  of  our  latest 
breeding  birds.  Unlike  the  Pied  species,  the  Yellow 
Wagtail  prefers  open  sites  for  its  nest,  at  the  foot  of 
walls,  amongst  deep  grass,  and  sometimes  down  the 
hedgerow  sides.  It  is  made  of  dry  grasses,  '  twitch/  a 
little  moss,  and  lined  with  fine  grass  and  hair.  The 
eggs,  four  or  five  in  number,  are  dirty-white,  with  light 
and  dark  brown  spots  and  blotches  :  some  specimens  are 
more  highly  coloured  than  others.  In  the  breeding 
season  the  Yellow  Wagtail  is  occasionally  heard  to  sing. 
At  times  far  between  is  his  melody  given  forth.  No 
morning  or  evening  lay  escapes  from  the  Wagtail,  and 
his  notes  are  uttered  seemingly  in  sudden  outbursts  of 
gladness.  Suddenly,  and  as  it  were  by  resistless  im- 
pulse, he  soars  from  the  meadow  grass,  and,  fluttering  in 
the  air,  warbles  a  delightful  strain  and  alights,  probably 


144  RURAL  BIRD   LIFE. 


to  remain  silent  for  days  ere  another  thrill  of  gladness 
causes  him  to  carol  forth  anew.  When  the  young  can 
leave  the  nest  they  still  keep  in  their  parents'  company, 
and  seldom  stray  far  away  from  their  native  pasture 
until  the  time  of  migration  arrives. 

Early  in  October,  and  before  vegetation  assumes  the 
lovely  tints  attendant  with  that  month,  flocks  of  Yellow 
Wagtails  are  often  seen,  sometimes  as  many  as  twenty 
or  thirty  individuals,  but  for  the  most  part  young  birds. 
The  varied  song  of  the  old  males  is  now  never  heard, 
and  the  birds,  that  is  most  of  them,  are  preparing  for  a 
southern  flight.  We  miss  them  suddenly,  and  though  a 
few  specimens  are  from  time  to  time  seen  throughout 
the  winter,  still  the  main  body  have  sought  a  southern 
clime. 

Before  bidding  this  graceful  group  of  choristers  adieu, 
I  will  say  a  few  words  in  respect  to  their  habits  of 
perching  on  trees — a  motion  denied  them  by  many- 
naturalists.  Here  the  Wagtail,  no  matter  of  what  parti- 
cular species,  though  its  food  is  obtained  on  the  ground, 
or  when  coursing  through  the  air,  may  be  seen  daily 
resorting  to  the  trees  for  rest,  and  from  their  branches 
he  ofttimes  pours  forth  his  varied  song.  Yet  at  night- 
fall he  repairs  to  the  ground  to  seek  repose.  The 
foot  of  the  Wagtail  differs  not  in  general  form  from 
any  of  the  feet  of  the  extensive  order  of  perching 
birds,  and  methinks  the  bird's  semi-terrestrial  habits 
have  led  many  persons  to  believe  the  Wagtail  a  bird 
unable  to  perch.  Did  his  food  frequent  the  trees, 
or  did  those  lovely  sylvan  ornaments  abound  in  the 
open  pastures,  you  would  see  the  Wagtail  far  up  their 
branches  as  frequently  as  the  Pipits.  And  these  re- 
marks apply  not  to  one  member  of  this  active  family 
alone,  for  there  is  not  a  Wagtail  in  Britain,  no  matter  of 


WAGTATI.X.  145 


what  species,  that  is  not  able  to  perch  with  comfort  on 
the  most  slender  branches,  and  does  so  repeatedly  ;  yet, 
notwithstanding,  the  true  haunt  of  the  Wagtail  is  on  the 
ground,  and  there  he  is  most  frequently  found,  because 
the  conditions  of  his  existence  require  it. 


146  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 


THE   TREE  PIPIT. 

IN  the  fresh  and  vernal  month  of  April  this  sprightly 
species  is  seen  in  his  summer  haunts.  While  the  barren 
moor  has  its  charms  for  the  Meadow  Pipit,  the  Tree 
Pipit  delights  in  the  richest  pastures,  on  the  borders  of 
woods,  and  seldom  far  from  trees,  his  partiality  to  \vhich 
gains  him  the  name  '  Tree '  Pipit.  Of  all  the  lovely 
singing  birds  that  annually  visit  us  in  spring,  perhaps 
the  Tree  Pipit  is  most  often  heard.  He  chooses  for  his 
station  the  topmost  branches  of  a  tree,  it  matters  not  if 
it  be  oak,  ash,  elm,  or  beech  ;  nor  does  the  height  of  the 
tree  at  all  affect  him.  Thus,  when  all  Nature  is  smiling 
in  the  varied  beauty  attained  under  the  influences  of 
the  vernal  sun,  and  all  creatures  ^eem  overflowing  with 
gratitude  to  their  Creator,  the  Tree  Pipit  sings  his 
loudest.  We  see  him,  probably  on  the  withered  or 
storm-blasted  top  of  a  lofty  tree,  his  slim  sprightly  form 
telling  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  azure  vault  of 
heaven,  after  remaining  motionless  for  a  few  moments 
launch  into  the  air,  and  on  fluttering  pinions  moun^ 
upwards  and  soar  far  away,  pouring  out  notes  of  rap 
beauty  as  he  goes ;  then  poising  himself,  as  the  zenith 
of  his  flight  is  reached,  for  a  moment,  he  glides  OP 
motionless  wings  and  expanded  tail  smoothly  and  evenly 
down  with  a  sidelong  motion — and  uttering  his  long 
drawn  twee-twee-t-wee  as  he  comes — to  his  orig:nal  perch- 
ing place,  or  if  he  is  not  yet  engaged  in  nesting  he  will 


THE    TREE  PIPIT.  147 

sometimes  glide  from  one  tree  to  another.  And  thus  he 
continues  soaring,  warbling,  and  gliding,  the  livelong 
day,  occasionally  visiting  the  ground  for  sustenance,  or 
even  sallying  out  into  the  air  to  catch  the  passing 
insects.  The  Tree  Pipit  often  warbles  on  his  perch,  but 
it  will  invariably  be  found  that  he  does  not  utter  his  full 
song  unless  when  on  the  wing.  It  would  thus  seem 
that  aerial  motions  are  requisite  for  this  graceful  little 
chorister  to  utter  those  lovely  notes  which  we  hear  him 
warble  when  in  the  circumambient  air. 

By  the  latter  end  of  April  the  Tree  Pipit  is  found  in 
the  company  of  his  mate,  who,  by  the  way,  spends  the 
greater  part  of  her  time  on  the  ground.  He  is  now  a 
wanderer  no  more.  Connected  by  the  closest  ties,  he 
remains  near  the  field  destined  to  contain  his  nest  until 
the  young  are  strong  upon  the  wing.  The  site  of  the 
nest  is  always  on  the  ground,  frequently  in  a  grass  field, 
though  sometimes  you  will  find  it  amongst  the  corn  or 
up  the  side  of  a  hedgerow.  A  little  hole  is  scratched 
in  the  ground,  and  dry  grass,  moss,  and  hair  are  speedily 
formed  into  a  little  home.  Puzzling  indeed  will  the 
young  naturalist  find  the  eggs  of  this  bird.  They  vary, 
ay,  almost  as  much  so  as  the  Guillemot's  beautiful  eggs, 
so  commonly  met  with  on  all  our  rocky  coasts.  But 
eggs  in  the  same  nests  are  similar.  Should  you  find 
eggs  dull  white,  boldly  spotted  and  blotched  with  purple 
of  different  shades,  all  the  eggs  in  the  nest  are  similar  ; 
should  you  find  eggs  dark  olive-green,  with  brown 
markings,  none  of  the  other  varieties  are  observable 
amongst  them  ;  or  if  you  notice  eggs  dull  white,  mottled 
all  over  with  reddish-purple,  the  larger  end  being  so 
thickly  coloured  as  to  hide  the  ground  colour,  all  in  that 
nest  will  be  similar  in  tint.  I  have  noticed,  too,  that 
the  darker  coloured  eggs  are  found  in  dark  situations,  as 


148  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

in  nests  under  trees  or  by  the  hedgerows,  while  those  of 
brighter  tints  are  found  in  the  barest  situations,  in  the 
bright  sunlight,  and  almost  invariably  in  pasture  fields. 
But  whether  this  circumstance  is  in  any  way  connected 
with  the  great  variation  of  the  eggs,  I  am  not  prepared 
to  say. 

Wary  birds  are  Tree  Pipits  in  approaching  their 
nest.  Deceptive  motions  are  their  protective  power,  at 
least  under  ordinary  circumstances.  You  see  the  male 
bird,  when  his  partner  is  upon  her  home,  dart  silently 
downwards  into  the  herbage  and  is  lost  to  view.  Could 
you  now  observe  his  actions,  you  would  find  he  runs 
rapidly  through  the  grass  and  thus  gains  his  nest  unseen. 
The  nest,  too,  you  will  find  is  almost  buried  in  the 
surrounding  vegetation,  and  should  you  come  upon  a 
nest  by  accident,  the  female  bird  sits  quiet  and  motion- 
less, crouching  low  over  her  treasure,  and  only  quits  her 
charge  at  the  last  moment,  which  she  does  silently  and 
swiftly,  getting  out  of  sight  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
male  bird  during  the  whole  period  of  incubation  goes 
but  little  way  from  the  nest.  He  chooses  some  conve- 
nient tree  near  his  home,  from  which  he  sings  the  day 
throughout,  and  which  he  uses  as  a  ladder  into  the  air, 
flying  down  from  it  to  feed  his  mate,  and  using  it  always 
as  the  starting  point  of  his  soaring  flights.  He  roosts 
on  the  ground  near  the  nest ;  and  when  the  young  are 
able  to  fly,  and  at  liberty  to  repose  in  any  suitable  place, 
both  young  and  parents  are  never  known  to  roost  any- 
where but  amongst  the  herbage  on  the  fields.  I  am  of 
opinion  but  one  brood  is  reared  in  the  year. 

When  the  young  are  able  to  fly  they  keep  in  their 
parents'  company,  but  not  throughout  the  season,  for  in 
August  Tree  Pipits  are  invariably  flushed  off  the  grass 
fields  in  pairs,  or  solitary.  Upon  the  ground  the  Tree 


THE   TREE  PI  PIT.  149 


Pipit  is  a  very  active  bird,  in  manner  something  similar 
to  the  Wagtails,  running  hither  and  thither  in  search  of 
insects,  or  feeding  on  the  smaller  worms  and  grubs.  In 
August,  when  the  corn  is  soft  and  milky,  and,  indeed, 
right  up  to  the  period  of  ripening,  the  Tree  Pipit  is  seen 
amongst  it.  Formerly  I  was  somewhat  puzzled  by  the 
visits  of  several  soft- billed  birds  to  the  corn-fields,  and  it 
was  not  until  I  had  spent  much  time  in  observation,  and 
in  dissection  too,  that  I  learnt  these  visits  were  for  the 
purpose  of  feeding  on  the  corn.  The  Tree  Pipit  is  one 
of  the  insectivorous  or  soft-billed  birds  most  commonly 
found  in  the  corn-fields,  and  by  exercising  a  little  caution 
you  may  see  him  shelling  out  the  wheat  with  as  much 
dexterity  as  the  well-known  Sparrow.  Probably  these 
birds  subsist  on  the  wheat  as  a  fruit,  and  would  not  touch 
it  when  dry  and  hard,  like  true  graminivorous  birds  ;  for 
the  insectivorous  birds  so  feeding  on  it  are  all  known  as 
'  fruit  eaters.' 

The  Tree  Pipit  moults  very  early  in  the  season,  as  soon 
as  the  young  are  fully  fledged.  They  then,  both  male 
and  female,  are  for  the  most  part  found  on  the  ground. 
Indeed,  when  once  the  Tree  Pipit  has  lost  his  notes, 
which  he  does  by  the  middle  of  July,  he  is  seldom  seen 
on  the  trees,  and  never  observed  to  soar  in  the  graceful 
flights  peculiar  to  the  spring  and  summer  months.  The 
moulting  season  passed,  the  Tree  Pipits  tarry  but  for  a 
short  time,  and  then  wing  their  way  southwards,  thus 
making  room  for  the  Meadow  Pipits,  which  come  down 
from  their  moorland  haunts  to  spend  the  winter. 


THE  MEADOW  PIPIT. 

THIS  pleasing  active  little  songster  would  be  far  more 
appropriately  named  the  *  Moor '  Pipit,  for  it  is  amidst 
their  barren  solitudes  by  far  the  greater  number  of  them 
delight  to  find  a  home  in  the  summer  months,  only 
being  found  on  the  lower  and  more  cultivated  lands  at 
a  time  when  the  wintry  blasts  howl  dismally  over  their 
summer  haunts. 

As  the  observer  wanders  over  the  wildest  moors, 
where  the  Red  Grouse  skims  before  him,  and  the  Ring 
Ousel,  a  true  bird  of  the  wild,  pipes  his  defiant  song — 
where  the  Curlew  and  the  Snipe  rise  in  rapid  flight  from 
the  margins  of  the  marshy  pools,  and  the  Lapwing  reels 
and  tumbles  in  the  air,  as  though  cautioning  the  hardy 
observer  to  beware  how  he  invades  her  upland  haunt, — 
he  ofttimes  hears  a  feeble  peep-peep,  and  on  looking  round 
sees  an  olive-coloured  little  bird  sitting  quietly  on  a 
neighbouring  rock  or  heather  tuft,  eyeing  him  with  sus- 
picious glances,  and  occasionally  jerking  its  wings  and 
tail  as  though  about  to  take  flight.  This  is  the  frail 


THE  MEADOW  PIPIT.  151 

little  Moor,  or  Meadow  Pipit,  the  most  abundant  little 
bird  on  the  moors  around  in  summer,  who  prefers  the 
invigorating  mountain  breezes  and  the  sparse  vegetation 
of  the  moor  to  the  gentle  zephyrs  and  arboreal  haunts 
of  the  cultivated  lands.  Should  you  stroll  over  the 
moors  in  winter,  scarcely  a  bird  is  seen,  but  if  you  post- 
pone your  visit  until  the  smiling  month  of  April,  you  see 
them  on  every  side,  on  the  walls,  the  bushes,  the  boulders 
of  rock,  or  flitting  uneasily  over  the  heathery  wastes, 
the  male  birds  ever  and  anon  sallying  into  the  air  and 
uttering  their  pleasing  varied  song  as  they  return  to 
their  perch  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Tree  Pipit.  But 
pause  for  a  moment  and  observe  the  bird  closely,  and 
you  find  that  the  Meadow  Pipit  reaches  the  zenith  of  his 
flight  in  silence,  and  then  as  he  comes  gracefully  down 
again  he  warbles  forth  his  song,  Another  very  promi' 
nent  feature  in  the  Meadow  Pipit's  economy  is  its  par- 
tiality for  wet^  and  marshy  places.  Wherever  a  bit  of 
marsh  or  little  pool  breaks  the  monotony  of  the  seem- 
ingly interminable  moors,  there  too  the  Meadow  Pipit  is 
invariably  found.  In  the  turnip  fields  and  pastures,  to 
which  the  birds  repair  in  winter,  if  marshy  places  occur, 
they  are  seen  most  frequently  on  their  borders.  Doubt- 
less this  is  owing  to  their  food,  for  the  Meadow  Pipit 
subsists  on  animal  substances,  such  as  small  worms, 
snails,  and  larvae,  much  more  than  on  insects. 

The  Meadow  Pipit  pairs  very  early  in  the  season, 
though  you  will  seldom  find  their  nest  before  the  begin- 
ning or  middle  of  May.  The  site  is  often  under  some 
friendly  tuft  of  herbage  ;  sometimes  you  find  the  nest 
placed  far  under  a  convenient  stone,  or  at  other  times  it 
is  placed  amongst  the  reeds  and  rushes  of  a  little  marsl  , 
It  is  largely  made  of  the  moss  growing  so  plentifully 
all  around,  mixed  with  a  little  dry  grass,  and  lined  with 


152  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

a  few  hairs,  sometimes  only  with  fibrous  roots.  The 
eggs  are  four  or  five  in  number,  dull  white  in  ground 
colour,  where  it  is  seen  through  the  markings  of  the 
egg,  clouded  all  over  with  brown,  and  sometimes  spotted 
and  streaked  with  dark  brown.  They  vary  but  little,  and 
are  much  smaller  than  those  of  the  Tree  Pipit.  The 
Meadow  Pipit  leaves  and  gains  her  nest  by  deceptive 
motions,  and  upon  your  approach  crouches  low  over 
her  charge  and  remains  silent  until  your  foot  is  almost 
over  her  home.  But  it  is  seldom  the  domestic  peace 
of  the  Meadow  Pipit  is  broken,  or  her  anxiety  excited 
for  her  young,  by  the  presence  of  man.  The  Cuckoo  in 
her  wanderings  over  the  wilds  sometimes  pays  her  a 
visit  and  inserts  her  egg ;  but  we  have  yet  to  learn  that 
the  bird  selected  by  the  Cuckoo  views  this  intrusion 
with  displeasure.  The  Meadow  Pipit  tends  her  young 
after  they  have  left  the  nest,  in  fact  the  whole  family 
sometimes  keep  together  throughout  the  winter.  I  am 
of  opinion  that  but  one  brood  is  reared  in  the  year. 

The  summer  passes  quickly  away,  and  the  hill  sides 
don  their  purple  tints,  an  unfailing  sign  of  autumn. 
The  Lapwings  and  Curlews  as  the  season  wanes  leave 
the  bleak  uplands  and  descend  to  the  coasts  for  the 
winter ;  the  Meadow  Pipits,  too,  must  retire,  and  they 
appear  on  the  pastures  in  September  and  October. 
Here  they  go  about  solitary  or  in  little  parties.  As  you 
stroll  over  the  turnip  fields  and  grass  lands  you  see 
them  flying  up  before  you,  uttering  their  feeble  and 
complaining  notes  of  pcep-pecp-peep,  to  alight  a  little  dis- 
tance away,  and  again  tarry  till  almost  trod  upon  ere 
they  take  wing,  their  sober  unassuming  garb  harmonis- 
ing closely  with  surrounding  tints.  In  the  late  autumn 
months  by  far  the  greater  number  of  Meadow  Pipits 
frequent  the  turnip  fields,  where  with  feeble  call  notes 


MEADuW  PIPIT.  153 


they  alight  on  the  broad  leaves  and  search  for  the  grubs 
or  insects  lurking  there.  Sometimes  in  winter  the  little 
creatures  are  hard  pressed  for  food  indeed.  When  the 
ground  is  covered  with  a  snowy  mantle  to  the  depth  of 
many  inches  and  frozen  hard,  they  repair  to  the  manure 
heaps,  and  prey  upon  the  small  flies,  beetles,  and  worms 
there  found.  They  go  in  little  parties,  sometimes  alone, 
and  what  is  noticed  about  them  as  strange  is  that,  con- 
trary to  most  if  not  all  birds,  they  appear  in  a  garb  much 
brighter  than  the  one  assumed  in  the  vernal  season.  In 
the  early  months  of  the  year  the  Meadow  Pipit  appears 
to  become  gregarious  for  a  short  time.  I  see  it  in  com- 
pany with  the  spring  flights  of  Wagtails  following  the 
plough,  and  have  no  doubt  they  continue  in  companies  till 
they  reach  the  moorlands  and  separate  into  pairs  for 
the  nesting  season.  The  Meadow  Pipit  when  in  a  weak 
and  helpless  condition  endeavours,  like  many  other 
birds,  to  hide  itself.  I  have  seen  a  wounded  Meadow 
Pipit  bury  itself  for  some  considerable  distance  in  a 
snow  drift  and  remain  motionless,  allowing  itself  to  be 
taken  in  the  hand  without  the  least  movement.  Such  is 
the  protective  instinct  of  the  feathered  tribes,  endless  in 
its  forms,  and  each  form  adapted  most  wonderfully  to 
the  particular  purpose  it  has  to  serve. 

We  have  yet  to  learn  why  the  Tree  Pipit,  so  closely 
allied  in  every  respect  to  its  little  congener  the  Meadow 
Pipit,  leaves  our  shores  for  the  winter,  while  this  seem- 
ingly frail  little  creature,  and  ill  adapted  one  would 
think  for  its  cold  and  cheerless  sojourn  with  us,  braves 
all  the  rigours  of  the  inclement  season  with  apparent 
comfort. 

Before  leaving  the  Meadow  Pipit  to  its  moorland 
haunts,  I  would  like  to  say  a  few  words  on  migration. 
When  the  observer  scans  the  long  list  of  birds  found  in 


154  RURAL  BIRD   LIFE. 

Britain  he  will,  supposing  him  to  have  some  little  know- 
ledge of  ornithology,  perhaps  notice  that  but  very  few 
species  are  perfectly  stationary.  The  major  part,  then, 
are  of  more  or  less  migratory  habits.  Some  migrate  to 
distant  countries  for  the  purpose  of  rearing  their  young  ; 
others,  though  their  young  are  reared  around  us,  still 
with  unerring  certainty  leave  our  shores  in  the  autumn 
months.  Many  visit  us  for  a  short  time  in  the  winter, 
to  escape  the  inclement  elements  in  their  northern 
haunts  ;  while  yet  again  numbers  only  visit  us  at  inter- 
vals long  and  far  between,  but  for  what  purpose  we  are 
as  yet  in  ignorance.  Probably  the  spring  migration  of 
birds  is  performed  for  the  purpose  of  rearing  their  off- 
spring in  places  specially  adapted  to  the  purpose,  while 
the  autumn  movements  are  chiefly  influenced  by  the 
supply  of  food  and  the  state  of  the  elements.  But  in 
the  case  of  the  Tree  Pipit  and  many  other  species  these 
remarks  will  scarcely  apply.  We  must,  therefore,  view 
the  migrations  of  many  species  as  requisite  to  the  pre- 
servation of  the  balance  of  Nature  and  the  equal  distri- 
bution of  the  feathered  tribes  throughout  the  earth. 

Thus  in  the  far  north  the  elements  and  scarcity  of  food 
drive  all,  or  nearly  all,  species  to  temperate  climes, 
where  they  can  spend  their  winter  in  comparative  ease 
and  safety.  But  it  will  be  seen  that  did  no  birds 
migrate  from  temperate  climes,  as  our  own  for  instance, 
birds  would  be  far  too  abundant  and  unequally  dis- 
tributed. Therefore,  as  if  to  balance  this  great  influx 
of  birds  fleeing  from  the  rigid  winter  of  the  north,  many 
birds  in  temperate  climes  retire  still  further  south,  to 
regions  where  an  opposite  season  prevails  to  that  of  the 
country  left,  and  where  the  presence  of  birds  is  needful. 
In  the  spring  the  northern  birds  retire  northwards,  and 
the  temperate  birds  leave  their  southern  haunts,  now 


THE  MEADOW  PIPIT.  155 


parched  and  untenable,  to  fill  their  place.  In  temperate 
climes  many  birds  v/hich  migrate  are  not  absolutely 
compelled  to  do  so  by  food  and  weather — the  Wagtails, 
Pipits,  and  Thrushes,  for  instance — and  therefore  I  am 
bold  enough  to  hazard  a  conjecture  that  the  migrations 
of  birds  in  temperate  regions,  though  they  may  in  some 
cases  be  influenced  by  food  and  climate,  play  an  all 
important  part  in  the  delicate  and  infinite  mechanism  of 
Nature's  balance. 


SKYLARK. 


THE  Skylark  shares  the  fields  with  the  Tree  Pipit, 
and  also  inhabits  the  wild  pastures  bordering  the  moor- 
land. Indeed  the  Lark  is  very  partial  to  the  most 
elevated  pastures,  ofttimes  shunning  the  sheltered  valleys, 
and  remaining  on  certain  elevated  districts  throughout 
the  year.  I  find  that  the  Lark  is  rather  peculiar  in  its 
choice  of  a  haunt,  sometimes  inhabiting  certain  districts 
in  great  plenty,  while  other  localities,  differing  in  no 
perceptible  degree,  are  but  thinly  tenanted  'or  abandoned 
altogether.  This  is  probably  owing  to  the  abundance  or 
rarity  of  certain  plants  on  the  seeds  of  which  they  feed. 

The  song  of  the  Skylark  is  heard  early  in  February, 
which  by  the  way  is  their  mating  season.  Few  things 
conduce  more  to  the  beauty  and  peaceful  harmony  of 
the  fields  than  the  love  song  of  this  aerial  chorister.  By 
the  first  streak  of  dawn  he  bounds  from  the  dripping 


THE  SKYLARK,  157 

he/bige,  and  on  fluttering  wing  mounts  the  air  for  a  few 
feet,  ere  giving  forth  his  cheery  notes.  Then  upward, 
apparently  without  effort,  he  sails,  sometimes  drifting 
far  away  as  he  ascends,  borne  as  it  were  by  the  ascend- 
ing vapours,  so  easily  he  mounts  the  air.  His  notes  are 
so  pure  and  sweet,  and  yet  so  loud  and  varied  withal, 
that  when  they  first  disturb  the  air  of  early  morning  all 
the  other  little  feathered  tenants  of  the  fields  and  hedge- 
rows seem  irresistibly  compelled  to  join  him  in  filling  the 
air  with  melody.  Upwards,  ever  upwards,  he  mounts, 
until  like  a  speck  in  the  highest  ether  he  appears  motion- 
less ;  yet  still  his  notes  are  heard,  lovely  in  their  faint- 
ness,  now  gradually  growing  louder  and  louder  as  he 
descends,  until  when  within  a  few  yards  of  the  earth  they 
cease,  and  he  drops  down  like  a  fragment  hurled  from 
above  into  the  herbage,  or  flits  above  it  for  a  short 
distance  ere  alighting.  Though  the  Skylark  warbles 
throughout  the  spring  and  summer  with  unfailing  powers, 
still  it  is  in  the  glorious  freshness  of  the  vernal  year,  when 
all  nature  is  putting  on  its  refreshing  sweetness,  that  I 
prize  his  notes  the  best.  For  though  the  Cuckoo  proclaims 
the  presence  of  spring  from  the  budding  branches,  and 
the  Blackcap  sings  of  leafy  bowers,  still  the  Skylark  is 
one  of  the  first  little  choristers  to  inform  us  that  winter 
is  already  vanishing  away  before  the  soft  and  gentle 
advent  of  spring.  I  would  here  remark  that  the  Lark's 
soaring  flights  are  not  at  all  necessary  for  the  utterance 
of  his  charming  song,  for  he  will  sing  just  as  richly  on 
the  ground  as  when  on  quivering  wing.  His  song  is 
also  uttered  as  he  wanders  hither  and  thither  in  search 
of  food,  but  it  is  not  perhaps  so  free  as  when  the  bird  is 
in  the  vault  of  heaven.  The  observer  will  find  that  there 
is  a  considerable  difference  between  the  songs  of  those  birds 
who  sing  whilst  in  motion  and  the  songs  of  birds  \\ho 


158  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


sing  from  a  perching  place.  The  song  of  the  former,  as 
a  rule,  is  more  uneven  and  varied,  and  as  it  were  speaks 
of  motion,  as,  for  instance,  the  song  of  the  Wren,  the 
Swallow,  and  the  Skylark  ;  while  the  latter  is  more 
tame  and  even,  as  the  love  song  of  the  Bunting  or  the 
tuneful  warblings  of  the  Blackbird.  When  the  Lark  is 
in  song  he  is  a  good  guide  to  the  weather,  for  when- 
ever we  see  him  rise  into  the  air,  despite  the  gloomy 
looks  of  an  overcast  sky,  fine  weather  is  invariably  at 
hand. 

As  the  nesting  season  draws  nigh,  the  Larks  spread 
themselves  here  and  there  over  the  surrounding  grass 
lands  for  the  continuation  of  their  species.  The  nest  is 
most  frequently  in  the  mowing  grass  fields,  sometimes 
amongst  the  young  corn,  or  even  by  the  wayside,  in 
places  little  frequented.  It  is  made  of  dry  grasses  and 
moss,  and  lined  with  fibrous  roots  and  a  little  horsehair  ; 
and  the  eggs,  four  or  five  in  number,  sometimes  only 
three,  are  dull  white,  spotted,  clouded,  and  blotched  over 
the  entire  surface  with  brownish-green.  The  female 
Lark,  like  all  ground  birds,  is  a  very  close  sitter,  remain- 
ing faithful  to  her  charge  until  almost  trod  upon  by  the 
wanderer  over  the  grass  lands.  The  manner  the  Lark 
regains  her  nest,  too,  shows  us  that  she  practises  decep- 
tive motions  as  a  protective  power.  You  see  her  drop 
silently  into  the  herbage,  and  by  a  previous  knowledge 
of  her  habits  you  are  aware  her  nest  is  far  away,  probably 
a  hundred  yards  or  more  from  the  place  of  her  descent. 
The  male  Skylark  is  seen  more  frequently  in  the  breed- 
ing season  than  at  any  other  time  of  the  year.  It  is 
music  that  sends  him  into  the  gaze  of  every  observer 
taking  the  trouble  to  find  him  in  the  sky,  and  that  music 
may  be  the  result  of  love,  or  for  the  purpose  of  cheering 
his  mate  on  her  lowly  nest,  or  even  for  the  purpose  of 


THE   SKYLARK.  159 

adding  greater  charms  to  the  smiling  face  of  Nature 
around.  We  know  not  which,  if  any  of  these  causes  be 
the  right  one,  for  all  the  information  we  can  glean  from 
the  subject  is  from  inference.  Would  that  some  chatter- 
ing Magpie  could- gain  her  long  lost  powers  of  speech, 
and  give  us  a  few  hints  on  this  puzzling  subject.  After 
the  young  have  gained  the  use  of  their  wings,  they  are 
abandoned  by  the  parent  birds,  who  very  often  have 
another  brood  before  the  autumnal  moult  takes  place  in 
August.  Yet  as  far  as  I  can  learn  the  second  brood  are 
abandoned  as  soon  as  matured,  and  the  Lark,  though 
occurring  in  plenty  all  around,  appears  as  a  solitary 
species. 

The  Skylark  loses  his  charming  song  in  the  autumnal 
moult,  never  to  fully  regain  it  until  the  following  spring, 
though  we  sometimes  hear  a  solitary  specimen  in  the 
waning  days  of  autumn,  or  on  those  calm  and  tranquil 
days  that  so  greatly  help  to  break  the  monotony  of  a 
long  and  cheerless  winter.  By  the  first  appearance  of 
winter,  even  as  early  as  October,  or  more  often  when 
November's  blasts  herald  its  approach,  the  Skylark 
shuns  its  solitary  life,  and  becomes  a  gregarious  species, 
to  remain  so  throughout  the  winter.  Districts  most 
favoured  with  their  presence  are  the  stubbles  sown  with 
clover  and  the  wild  weedy  pastures.  Here,  as  the 
observer  wanders  on,  the  birds  fly  from  under  his  feet 
and  all  around  him,  uttering  a  musical  note  as  they  rise 
and  speedily  unite  into  one  flock,  when,  after  wheeling 
about  in  the  air  for  a  time,  they  again  alight  in  another 
part  of  the  cover.  Upon  alighting  the  Lark  stands  erect 
and  glances  suspiciously  around,  ere  it  nestles  down 
amongst  the  herbage.  Here  the  sombre  colours  of  its 
plumage  harmonise  so  closely  with  the  surroundings, 
that,  once  nestled,  it  is  comparatively  safe,  and  will 


160  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

seldom  or  never  rise  until  closely  approached.  Seldom 
indeed,  if  ever,  will  the  observer  notice  the  Lark  perch  on 
a  tree  or  hedgerow.  I  have  seen  them  alight  on  trees, 
but  only  in  one  or  two  isolated  instances.  But  this, 
however,  shows  us  that  though  the  Skylark  is  terrestrial 
in  its  habits,  its  feet  are  capable  of  firmly  grasping  a 
bough  or  twig,  notwithstanding  the  surprising  length  of 
the  hind  claw — a  peculiarity,  by  the  way,  common  to  but 
few  birds.  I  have  reason  to  doubt  that  the  Woodlark, 
and  even  the  Tree  Pipit,  are  often  set  down  as  Skylarks, 
and  looked  at  with  surprise  when  seen  to  alight  other- 
wise than  on  the  ground. 

The  Larks  roost  on  the  ground,  but  seldom  close  to- 
gether, and  will  continue  to  use  certain  grounds  for  the 
purpose  despite  the  presence  of  man.  Indeed,  so  attached 
is  the  Lark  to  its  favourite  haunts,  that  it  can  seldom  be 
driven  away.  If  fired  at  it  merely  rises,  and  after  wheel- 
ing round  in  the  air  again  alights,  or  if  driven  away  at 
nightfall,  it  is  sure  to  be  on  its  favourite  lands  the  follow- 
ing day.  The  food  of  the  Lark  is  varied  :  in  spring  and 
summer,  insects  and  their  larvae,  and  worms  and  slugs 
are  preyed  upon  ;  in  autumn  and  winter,  seeds  form  their 
chief  support,  very  often  of  the  most  troublesome  weeds, 
which  if  left  would  cause  the  smiling  pastures  to  become 
nothing  but  useless  and  weed-choked  wastes.  The  newlv 

o  * 

sown  corn  lands  are  also  visited,  and  sometimes  in  early 
spring  you  see  them  on  the  fallows  in  company  with  the 
Wagtails.  When  the  ground  lies  deep  in  snow  the  Sky- 
lark has  often  to  wander  in  search  of  food,  but  always 
unerringly  returns  to  its  former  haunts  at  the  approach 
of  milder  weather. 

The  Skylark  is  held  in  high  repute  by  the  bird 
fancier,  but  to  me  his  notes  in  confinement  sound  as  a 
mockery  of  Nature.  To  cage  a  bird  of  the  Skylark's 


THE  SKYLARK.  161 


habits  seems  cruel  indeed.  I  always  look  with  regret 
upon  any  of  the  feathered  tribes  when  caged,  and  on 
none  more  so  than  the  Skylark,  when  I  see  it  endeavour 
to  soar  and  warble  as  if  in  the  height  of  its  freedom. 
To  reflect  what  liberty  this  poor  little  chorister  has  lost, 
and  that  a  space  a  few  inches  square  should  enclose  one 
whose  liberty  knew  no  bounds,  makes  me  sad.  Poor 
little  chorister,  though  your  melody  seems  a  joyful  one, 
yet  my  heart  feels  sorry  for  thee,  and  I  would  infinitely 
like  to  see  thee  restored  to  all  the  freedom  of  thy  aerial 
celsitude. 


1 62  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


THE  YELLOW  BUNTING. 

OF  the  many  gaily  dressed  birds  which  frequent  our 
fields  and  hedgerows,  few  are  dressed  more  splendidly 
than  the  Yellow  Bunting.  A  bird  of  the  fields  and 
woodlands,  we  find  him  round  the  hedgerows,  on  the 
borders  of  woods  and  shrubberies,  on  the  highways,  in 
the  fields  and  gardens,  on  the  borders  of  the  moors,  and 
occasionally  far  on  their  barren  wastes.  There  are  few 
hedgerows  without  the  Yellow  Bunting,  and  where  the 
hedges  are  wanting  we  find  him  on  the  trees  and  walls. 
On  the  outskirts  of  the  moors,  too,  we  see  him  perched 
on  the  stunted  bushes  or  rocky  boulders,  and  his  short 
and  monotonous  song,  and  still  more  monotonous  call 
notes,  break  the  stillness  of  the  solitudes  around.  Like 
most  birds  known  as  Finches,  and  whose  food  consists 
for  the  greater  part  of  seeds,  the  Yellow  Bunting  resides 
with  us  the  year  throughout.  He  is  a  bird  easily  recog- 
nised by  his  canary-coloured  under  parts,  rich  brown 
back,  and  yellow  crown.  When  in  motion  the  white 
feathers  in  the  tail  show  themselves.  His  call  notes,  too, 
are  harsh  and  monotonous,  and  most  frequently  uttered 
when  he  is  at  rest.  The  tail  also  is  continually  jerked 
with  a  slow  and  regular  motion.  A  little  after  the 
vernal  equinox  the  Bunting  commences  to  sing.  Perched 
on  a  hedgerow,  wall,  tree,  bush,  or  sometimes  on  the 
ground,  he  will  sit  and  sing,  if  not  disturbed,  for  a  con- 


THE   YELLOW  BUNTING.  163 

siderable  length  of  time,  being  answered  by  the  other 
Buntings  in  the  neighbourhood.  Monotonous  as  are  the 
love  notes  of  this  little  songster,  still  they  always  sound 
pleasant  to  the  ear  after  the  dull  dreary  time  of  winter. 
Then,  too,  they  are  heard  at  a  time  when  few  other 
songsters  warble,  and  even  as  the  season  rolls  on,  and  all 
the  feathered  host  unites  in  song,  his  notes  form  a  part 
and  variation  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  He  is  also  one 
of  the  latest  birds  to  sing,  for  autumn  reigns  in  peaceful 
beauty,  and  the  greater  part  of  Nature's  minstrels  have 
ceased  their  warbles,  long  before  his  notes  decline. 

We  find  in  most  birds,  from  the  Falcon  to  the  Dove, 
that  in  the  mating  season  the  male  birds  are  more  or 
less  pugnacious.  The  Yellow  Bunting,  being  a  species 
that  pairs  annually,  is  no  exception.  Thus,  early  in 
April,  when  all  the  males  are  in  full  song,  we  often 
witness  combats  between  rival  males  for  the  possession 
of  a  female.  Fiercely  they  fight,  pursuing  each  other 
with  the  utmost  fury,  their  feathers  bristling,  and  their 
whole  form  swelling  with  rage  and  passion,  until,  finally, 
the  stronger  repels  the  weaker,  and  celebrates  the  event 
with  a  song  seemingly  louder  and  fiercer  than  before. 
Once  paired,  however,  these  combats  cease,  and  the 
Yellow  Bunting  becomes  as  gentle  and  harmless  as  any 
of  the  feathered  race. 

Though  the  Yellow  Bunting  pairs  so  early  in  the 
season,  a  month  or  even  more  elapses  ere  we  find  its 
nest.  The  site  chosen  is  a  varied  one  ;  round  the 
hedgerows  it  is  seen  amongst  the  tangled  herbage ; 
ofttimes  too  upon  a  bank,  or  under  the  shelter  of  a  bush. 
Though  most  frequently  found  on  the  ground,  still  it  is 
occasionally  built  in  the  smaller  shrubs.  A  favourite 
place  is  amongst  nettles  and  other  rank  vegetation 
growing  on  waste  grounds  :  but  wherever  the  site  be 


1 64  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


chosen,  the  nest  is  invariably  well  concealed.  It  i? 
made  of  dry  grasses  and  a  little  moss,  and  lined  with 
fibrous  roots  and  horsehair  ;  and,  what  is  rather  remark- 
able, will  lie  completed  for  several  days  ere  the  eggs 
are  deposited.  The  eggs  are  four  or  five  in  number, 
purplish-white  in  ground  colour,  streaked,  spotted,  and 
dashed  with  deep  brown.  In  respect  to  British  eggs, 
the  young  naturalist  can  seldom,  if  ever,  take  the  egg  of 
a  Bunting  for  that  of  any  other  bird.  It  is  only 
amongst  the  Bunting  family  we  find  these  streaky  eggs, 
appearing  as  they  often  do  as  though  some  one  had 
scribbled  and  streaked  with  a  pen  over  their  entire 
surface.  Many  of  the  lines  are  fine  as  the  finest  hair, 
while  others  are  bolder,  all  being  mixed  up  together  in 
endless  confusion.  With  most,  if  not  all  birds,  if  the 
first  egg  be  taken  from  the  nest,  they  will  still  continue 
laying  in  the  nest  until  the  full  number  of  eggs  be  laid. 
This  is  the  case  with  the  Bunting.  Nay,  more  ;  you  may 
remove  the  nest  itself,  still  the  old  bird  forsakes  not  the 
place,  and  continues  laying  egg  after  egg  on  the  bare 
ground  until  the  usual  number  is  deposited.  But  the  mo- 
ment that  is  done  she  abandons  tfie  place  for  ever,  and 
by  no  strange  circumstance  will  she  incubate  them  on  the 
ground.  When  you  approach  the  Bunting's  nest  the 
parent  bird  crouches  low  over  her  treasure,  and  silently 
awaits  the  success  of  her  protective  designs.  If  compelled 
to  leave  her  home  she  does  so  in  a  silent  manner,  though 
sometimes  when  a  little  distance  away  she  will  try  to 
gain  your  attention  by  various  alluring  motions. 

It  is  when  the  Bunting  has  a  brood  of  hungry  young 
that  the  birds  amply  repay  us  for  their  inroads  on  the 
corn-fields  and  seed-beds.  Indeed,  this  will  apply  to  all 
the  Finches,  for  there  is  not  one  amongst  them  that  feeds 
its  young  on  seeds.  Insects  and  their  larvse  form  the 


THE    YET. LOW   BUNTTNG.  165 


Yellow  Bunting's  food  in  the  summer  months.  They 
will  bring  to  their  nest  a  caterpillar  or  insect  every  few 
minutes  ;  and  when  we  bear  in  mind  that  their  young  are 
fed  twelve  hours  a  day  at  least,  the  quantity  of  insects 
consumed  even  by  one  family  of  birds  is  amazing.  At 
other  times  of  the  year  seeds  form  their  chief  support ; 
but  though  they  are  seen  feeding  on  the  newly  sown 
lands  in  company  with  the  Rook,  we  must  not  forget 
that  seeds  of  noxious  plants,  both  to  farmer  and  gardener, 
are  consumed.  Though  we  see  them  feeding  on  the  seed- 
beds in  the  gardens,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  if  they 
do  take  a  few  of  the  seeds  they  are  one  of  the  chief 
guardians  of  what  is  left. 

In  the  winter  months  the  Yellow  Bunting  is  seen  on 
the  naked  hedgerows  and  surrounding  fields,  searching 
for  sustenance  in  company  with  the  Chaffinch,  the 
Greenfinch,  and  the  Rook.  When  disturbed,  instead  of 
rising  simultaneously  like  Rooks  or  Starlings,  they  fly 
off  in  little  parties,  or  even  singly,  and  after  wheeling 
about  in  the  air  in  jerking  flight,  finally  settle  on  the  neigh- 
bouring trees  or  hedgerows,  and  wait  until  the  danger 
is  passed,  when  one  by  one,  or  in  little  parties,  they  return 
to  their  food-seeking  labours.  In  the  keenest  weather, 
when  the  lands  lie  inches  deep  in  snow,  and  the  hedge- 
rows are  decked  in  dazzling  whiteness,  you  see  the  Bunt- 
ings, gregarious  at  this  season,  in  the  farmyards,  clinging 
to  the  corn-stacks,  or  picking  a  scanty  sustenance  from 
the  manure  heaps,  in  company  with  the  Chaffinch,  the 
Dunnock,  and  Cock  Robin.  You  also  see  them  hopping 
round  the  barn  door,  or  fluttering  round  the  threshing 
floor,  showing  no  alarm  for  the  sturdy  blows  of  the  flail. 
Hunger  is  a  stern  command,  and  even  the  most  shy  and 
timid  birds  must  bow  before  it.  The  Yellow  Bunting  is 
very  probably  a  migratory  bird,  for  in  the  winter  months 


1 66  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


they  are  often  seen  in  more  than  double  their  numbers 
of  the  summer  months. 

When  the  icy  hand  of  winter  has  shorn  the  greater 
number  of  trees  and  shrubs  of  their  leafy  covering,  the 
Bunting  seeks  shelter  in  the  branches  of  the  evergreen. 
Nightly  you  see  them  enter  its  dense  and  impenetrable 
foliage,  and  after  a  twittering  concert  settle  down  to  un- 
disturbed repose.  I  think  few  things  are  more  interest- 
ing in  the  study  of  animated  nature  than  to  observe  the 
actions  of  birds  at  the  close  of  day.  Then,  too,  the  par- 
ticular time  at  which  they  seek  repose  strictly  harmonises 
with  their  habits.  We  find  in  winter  that  seed-eating 
birds,  as  the  Bunting  for  instance,  retire  early  to  rest ; 
while  insect  feeders,  as  the  Robin,  and  feeders  on  animal 
substances,  as  the  Redwing,  only  seek  their  roosting 
places  when  night  wraps  all  things  in  her  gloomy 
mantle. 


REED    BUNTING. 


THE   COMMON  BUNTING   AND  REED 
BUNTING, 

THERE  are  two  other  members  of  the  Bunting  family 
which  the  observer  will  probably  notice  in  his  wander- 
ings, namely,  the  Common  Bunting  and  the  Black-headed 
or  Reed  Bunting.  The  former  bird  is  much  rarer  than 
the  Yellow  Bunting,  and  inhabits  the  corn-fields,  also  the 
lands  bordering  the  moors.  It  has  not  anything  parti- 
cularly striking  in  its  appearance,  being  dressed  in  a 
garb  something  similar  to  the  Skylark,  but  it  claims 
merit  as  being  the  largest  Bunting  found  in  Britain. 

In  the  spring  time  and  indeed  throughout  the  summer 
the  Common  Bunting  is  for  the  most  part  seen  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  corn-fields,  either  clinging  to  the 
stems  of  herbage  swaying  about  in  the  breeze,  or  perched 
on  the  hedgerows  and  walls,  the  male  uttering  a  few 
notes,  which,  given  many  times  in  succession,  comprise 
his  only  attempt  at  song  :  still,  crude  and  monotonous 


1 68  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

as  they  are,  to  the  ear  of  the  lover  of  animated  nature 
they  prove  ever  grateful.  When  the  bird  is  engaged  in 
song,  provided  you  advance  with  cautious  step  and  slow, 
you  may  succeed  in  getting  quite  close  to  him,  and 
observe  him  minutely.  I  would  here  remark  that  when 
a  bird  is  singing,  though  it  be  a  shy  and  retiring  species, 
it  will  admit  of  a  much  nearer  approach  than  when 
silent.  I  have  advanced  within  a  few  feet  of  the  shy 
and  retiring  Blackbird  when  singing,  simply  by  advanc- 
ing when  the  bird  was  pouring  out  his  song,  and  remain- 
ing silent  and  motionless  between  each  snatch  of 
melody. 

The  Common  Bunting  pairs  annually,  rather  later 
by  the  way  than  the  Yellow  Bunting,  and  its  nest  is 
seldom  commenced  until  the  latter  end  of  May,  when 
the  spring  corn  affords  it  plenty  of  seclusion.  This  bird 
has  seldom  been  known  to  build  a  nest  otherwise  than 
on  the  ground.  We  may  find  the  Yellow  Bunting's 
abode  some  feet  above  it,  but  rarely  indeed  do  we  see 
the  home  of  its  larger  congener  in  such  situation.  It 
is  often  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  field,  or  often  but  a 
few  yards  from  the  hedge,  sometimes  down  the  hedge- 
row side,  under  a  spreading  bramble  :  it  matters  little. 
The  nest  is  made  of  a  few  straws  taken  from  the  manure 
with  which  the  field  was  spread,  and  grasses,  and  lined 
with  fibrous  roots  'and  a  few  horsehairs.  The  eggs  are 
from  three  to  five  in  number,  and  of  course  much  larger 
than  the  Yellow  Bunting's,  otherwise  they  very  closely 
resemble  them.  When  you  approach  their  nest  the  parent 
birds  become  very  anxious,  flitting  from  spray  to  spray,  or 
wheeling  round  you  in  the  air  ;  but  these  motions  are 
only  observed  after  their  silent  protective  wiles  have 
failed,  for  the  Bunting  is  a  close  sitter,  and  will  allow  you 
to  almost  tread  upon  her  ere  she  rises. 


COMMON  HUNTING  AND  REED  BUNTING.       169 

Like  all  Buntings,  the  Common  Bunting  subsists  on 
various  seeds,  and  in  the  summer  months  on  insects  and 
larvae.  Like  its  congeners,  it  becomes  partially  grega- 
rious in  the  winter  months,  and  is  often  seen  in  the  com- 
pany of  Yellow  Buntings,  Greenfinches,  and  Larks.  In 
the  corn-fields,  when  the  grain  is  almost  ready  for  the 
sickle,  we  often  see  the  Common  Buntings  alight  on  the 
straws,  and  bending  them  down  by  their  weight,  feed  on 
the  grain  unobserved.  Noxious  seeds  are  also  consumed 
and  many  a  smiling  acre  owes  its  fertility  to  these  birds, 
who  ravenously  feed  on  these  seeds,  which  if  left  would 
speedily  convert  the  surrounding  fallows  into  tangled 
weedy  wastes. 

When  the  wintry  floods  have  subsided,  and  the 
showery  month  of  April  calls  all  things  into  vigour,  as 
we  wander  on  the  banks  of  the  river  or  canal,  where  the 
rushes  and  waterflags  bend  and  sway  in  the  vernal 
breeze,  and  the  surface  of  the  water  ruffles  under  its 
gentle  breath,  we  sometimes  see  a  bird,  or  most  frequently 
a  pair  of  them,  the  male  dressed  in  a  garb  similar  to 
the  Yellow  Bunting,  but  with  a  jet  black  head  and  white 
collar,  and  the  female  much  more  sombre,  without  the 
black  head,  and  the  under  parts  much  lighter  coloured. 
These  little  choristers  are  Reed  Buntings.  See  how  the 
male  bird  perches  as  high  up  yonder  rush  stem  as 
possible,  and  with  tail  jerking  quite  as  frequently  as  the 
Wagtail  pours  forth  a  few  pleasing  notes.  Short  and 
somewhat  monotonous  as  they  are,  still  they  are  his  love 
song,  and  his  more  shy  and  retiring  mate  no  doubt 
experiences  the  same  degree  of  pleasure  from  them  as 
the  female  Nightingale  does  from  the  lovely  trills  of  her 
mate.  As  we  wander  on,  the  birds  flit  before  us  in  un- 
dulating rapid  flight,  now  alighting  on  the  reeds  or  on 
the  sprays  of  the  bushes  skirting  the  stream,  and  then 


170  RURAL    BIRD   LIFE. 


with  a  low  sweeping  flight  over  the  water  returning  to 
their  old  haunt. 

Though  in  winter  the  Reed  Bunting  quits  his  marshy 
haunts  and  is  seen  in  company  with  other  grain-eating 
birds,  still  when  the  vernal  season  once  more  arrives  he 
leaves  the  ricks  and  the  pastures  and  returns  to  the 
waterside  in  company  with  his  mate,  for  the  purpose  of 
continuing  his  species.  The  nest  is  snugly  placed  in  a 
reed  tuft  or  under  a  friendly  bush  on  the  margin  of  the 
waters.  When  in  the  reeds,  however,  it  is  never  found 
suspended  to  them,  like  the  Reed  Warbler's  abode,  but 
always  right  down  in  the  centre  of  the  tuft.  It  is  made 
of  coarse  grass,  reeds,  and  sedges,  and  lined  with  fibrous 
rootlets  and  a  few  horsehairs.  The  eggs  are  four  or 
five  in  number,  dull  white,  streaked,  spotted,  and 
speckled  with  deep  purplish-brown  :  some  eggs  are  more 
clouded  and  less  streaked  than  others,  while  many  are 
almost  plain.  When  you  wander  near  the  nest  the  ever 
watchful  male  bird  will  ofttimes  endeavour  to  draw  your 
attention  to  himself  by  fluttering  apparently  helpless 
before  you ;  but  the  female  bird  remains  quiet  and 
motionless  on  her  charge,  and  only  quits  it  when  her 
treasure  lies  at  your  feet. 

In  the  spring  and  summer  months  the  Reed  Bunting's 
food  consists  of  insects  and  larvae,  like  that  of  the  other 
members  of  the  Bunting  family ;  but  when  the  seeds  of  the 
rushes  are  ripe,  we  see  them  clinging  to  the  stems,  almos.. 
bent  double  by  their  weight,  and  with  tail  jerking  quickly 
extract  the  seeds.  Grass  seeds  and  the  seeds  of  weeds 
are  also  eaten,  and  in  the  winter  months  we  sometimes 
see  them  on  the  common  in  company  with  Linnets,  on 
the  clover  fields  with  the  Larks,  or  even  in  the  farmyards 
with  Sparrows,  and  on  the  highway  or  pasture  with  the 
Chaffinch  and  Yellow  Bunting. 


CHAFFIXCH. 


THE    CHAFFINCH  AND  BRAMBL1NG. 

THE  Chaffinch  is  another  little  chorister  decked  out  in 
gay  attire,  and  well  known,  too,  for  there  is  scarcely  a 
hedgerow,  garden,  wood,  coppice,  or  shrubbery,  that  does 
not  at  some  time  of  the  year  contain  Chaffinches  in 
abundance.  You  may  easily  recognise  him  by  his  mo- 
notonous cry  of  spink-spink,  spink-spink-spink,  the  more 
frequently  and  loudly  uttered  provided  you  are  close  to 
his  nest. 

By  the  first  week  in  March,  when  the  pale  primroses 
are  peeping  from  under  the  withered  leaves,  and  the 
hawthorn  shows  the  first  signs  of  its  coming  vesture,  we 


172  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

hear  the  love  song  of  the  Chaffinch.     Though  short  and 
even  monotonous  as  compared  to  the  melody  of  the  Song- 
thrush,  still  there  is  an  indescribable  freshness  and  spright- 
liness  about  it,  and  its  loud  ringing  tones  seem  to  fill 
the  air  and  the  woodlands  around  with  gladness.    When 
we  hear  his  enlivening  notes  in  the  vernal  year  we  know 
he  is  inviting  a  female  to  join  him  for  the  coming  breed- 
ing season,  and  we  hail  his  melody  as  one  of  the  first 
signs  of  coming  spring,  and  prize  it  accordingly,  for  at  a 
time    like  this   the  slightest  warning  of  the  change  of 
season    is    welcomed    with    tire   keenest    delight.     The 
Chaffinch  sings  incessantly  from  the  beginning  of  March 
till  the  middle  of  July,  when  in  the  autumnal  moult  his 
voice   is   lost   until  the    following   spring.     Sometimes, 
however,  the  Chaffinch  is  heard  to  sing  after  recovery 
from  the  moult.     The  24th  of  September  1878  was  one 
of  those   calm  tranquil    times  that   so  often    mark  the 
waning  year — one  of  those  evenings  when  all  Nature  seems 
lulled  to  rest  after  the  vigorous  activity  of  the   spring 
and  summer.     As  I  was  pausing  to  admire  the  calmness 
of  all  Nature  around  me,  my  ears  were  suddenly  greeted 
with  the  love  song  of  the  Chaffinch,  given  forth  as  loudly 
and  sweetly  as  in  the  vernal  season.     He  sang  but  once, 
and  though  I  lingered  long,  his  bewitching  notes  were 
heard  no  more.     Perhaps  the  old  proverb, '  One  Swallow 
does  not  make  a  summer/  may  be  urged  in  this  case  ;  but 
then  he  sang  again  the  following  month,  and  I  have  not 
a  doubt  but  what  he  sings  at  intervals  throughout  the 
autumn  months,  although,  notwithstanding,  the  occur- 
rence is  certainly  a  rare  one  and  worthy  of  record.     This 
gives  me  a  somewhat  convincing  proof  that  birds  which 
moult  early  in  the  year  regain  their  lost  melody,  probably 
owing  to  the  genial  weather  at  the  time  they  have  com- 
pleted it,  for  I  am  convinced  that  the  song  of  birds  is 


THE   CHAFFINCH  AND  BRAMBLING.  173 

influenced  by  their  temperament.  Thus  the  Robin 
and  Wren  moult  early  in  the  season  ;  so,  too,  do  the 
Starling  and  the  Thrush.  Now  all  these  birds  sing  more 
or  less  frequently  throughout  the  winter,  but  the  Bunting 
and  Meadow  Pipit  and  Chaffinch  moult  later,  and  con- 
sequently are  seldom  if  ever  heard  to  sing  until  the 
following  season.  All  birds,  therefore,  which  moult  late 
begin  to  feel  the  cutting  blasts  of  Boreas  ere  they  are  in 
a  fit  state  to  sing,  and  therefore  never  do  so  till  the  return 
of  spring,  or  at  most  on  those  calm  and  genial  days  which 
so  often  occur  throughout  the  winter  months.  Besides 
the  song  of  the  male  in  the  breeding  season,  we  also  hear 
him  utter  a  sharp  call  note  something  like  that  of  the 
Willow  Warbler,  only  very  much  louder  and  not  at  all 
plaintive.  This  note,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  is  common 
to  the  male  alone,  and  only  uttered  in  the  pairing  and 
breeding  seasons.. 

Throughout  the  cold  and  windy  month  of  March,  the 
Chaffinch,  though  he  frequents  the  hedgerows  in  plenty 
during  the  day,  is  seen  at  nightfall  in  the  shrubberies, 
seeking  the  yew  tree's  shelter  for  repose.  If  the  days 
are  cold  and  cheerless,  we  invariably  find  them  in 
amongst  the  evergreens,  for  I  notice  that  with  all  birds 
the  colder  and  more  ungenial  the  weather  the  more  they 
flock  on  low  lying  and  sheltered  lands,  and  seek  in  the 
shelter  of  shrubberies  a  refuge  from  the  elements.  But 
though  the  Chaffinch  in  winter  prefers  to  frequent  the 
shrubberies,  still  in  summer  he  loveth  the  fields  the  best, 
and  amongst  the  evergreen's  verdant  branches  I  but 
seldom  find  his  nest 

Although  the  Chaffinch  pairs  early  in  March,  we  but 
rarely  find  its  nest  fully  completed  before  the  second  of 
third  week  in  April.  The  nest  is  as  varied  in  its  situa- 
tion as  its  little  owners  are  in  their  distribution.  We 


174  RURAL  BIRD   LIFE. 

see  it  on  the  orchard  tree  ;  placed  in  some  convenient 
crotch  in  the  hedgerow  ;  far  in  the  solitudes  of  the  birch 
woods,  on  some  lichen-covered  branch  ;  or  some  fifty 
feet  or  more  up  the  branches  of  the  oak  or  elm.  Then, 
too,  we  sometimes  find  it  in  the  spreading  yew  tree  ; 
frequently  amongst  the  branches  of  the  holly  and  white- 
thorn ;  and  more  rarely  in  the  prickly  branches  of  the 
gorse.  I  once  found  a  Chaffinch's  nest  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  Derwent,  in  amongst  the  frowning  hills  of  the 
wide-famed  Peak.  It  was  built  on  the  side  of  a  wall 
bordering  the  river,  and  was  under  a  tuft  of  grass  grow- 
ing from  the  wall.  The  materials  of  the  nest  were  so 
closely  woven  with  the  tuft  of  grass,  that  other  support 
it  did  not  require  :  indeed,  no  further  support  was  avail- 
able, and  the  nest  hung  suspended  over  the  roaring 
stream.  It  contained  five  eggs,  and  the  female  bird  was 
sitting  quietly  upon  them. 

The  Chaffinch  probably  takes  more  time  to  build  her 
snug  little  home  than  any  other  British  bird,  save,  in- 
deed, the  Long-tailed  Titmouse.  We  visit  it  day  by  day 
for  nearly  a  fortnight  ere  we  find  it  ready  for  the  eggs. 
First  the  outside  framework,  made  of  rootlets,  moss,  and 
grasses  wove  beautifully  together,  and  further  strengthened 
with  cobwebs  and  lichens,  is  completed  ;  then  the  inside 
has  to  be  lined  with  a  thick  and  soft  bed  of  hair  and 
feathers  and  the  down  of  various  seeds.  Were  we  to 
stay  near  the  place  during  the  whole  period  the  nest  is 
being  made  we  should  probably  never  see  the  male  bird 
do  any  of  the  nest  building.  He,  however,  brings  the 
greater  part  of  the  materials  to  his  mate,  who  receives 
them,  and,  unaided,  weaves  them  into  the  structure  which, 
in  our  ideas  of  beauty,  is  a  matchless  piece  of  handiwork. 

Mimicry  is  the  Chaffinch's  most  frequent  form  of 
protective  instinct.  Wherever  we  find  the  Chaffinch's 


THE   CHAFFINCH  AND  BRAMBLING.          175 


nest  we  see  an  example  of  her  protective  power.  On  the 
lichen-covered  trunk  lichens  dot  the  walls  of  her  abode ; 
in  the  holly  bush  green  moss  is  used  instead  ;  while 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  spiders'  webs  are  used.  I 
would  here  again  remark  that  a  bird  has  not  the  least 
idea  that  its  nest  wiri  be  plundered,  and  it  is  not  fore- 
thought that  influences  them  in  making  those  various 
provisions  for  the  present  or  future  welfare  of  their  eggs 
and  young  which  we  class  as  protective  instinct.  The 
Chaffinch,  as  is  every  ether  bird,  is  perfectly  unconscious 
of  the  good  she  is  effecting  when  covering  her  nest  with 
lichens  to  assimilate  it  to  the  lichen-covered  branch 
that  supports  it.  But  urged  by  -the  power  we  term  in- 
stinct, planted  within  her  by  her  all-merciful  Creator, 
she  does  so,  unconsciously,  it  is  true,  but  in  an  effectual 
manner.  The  Chaffinch  is  an  anxious  bird  when 
building,  and  should  you  intrude  upon  her  when  so 
engaged,  she  and  her  mate  fly  hither  and  thither,  and 
course  over  the  branches,  making  the  air  resound  with 
their  monotonous  call  notes,  seemingly  speaking  of 
anger  and  alarm,  for  the  Chaffinch  shows  more  anxiety 
for  its  uncompleted  nest  than  probably  any  other  bird 
we  meet. 

The  eggs  of  the  Chaffinch,  four  or  five  in  number, 
sometimes  even  six,  are  pale  bluish-green,  spotted  with 
deep  purplish-brown,  and  occasionally  streaked  with  the 
same  colour.  Some  specimens  have  all  the  -colouring 
matter  collected  in  a  mass  on  the  larger  end,  and  others 
are  entirely  spotless.  The  female  bird  is  the  one  who 
hatches  the  eggs,  and  she  is  fed  assiduously  by  her  mate, 
and  her  long  dreary  task  is  made  light  and  pleasant  by 
his  bright  and  vigorous  notes  close  at  hand.  While 
sitting  on  her  nest  I  sometimes  see  her  catch  the  insects 
flying  near.  I  have  never  yet  found  the  egg  of  the 


176  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


Cuckoo  in  the  Chaffinch's  nest,  still  the  female  Chaffinch 
will  hatch  the  eggs  of  other  species.  I  once  made  a 
Chaffinch  hatch  four  eggs  of  the  Dunnock,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  the  old  birds  would  have  reared  their  strange 
brood  if  the  nest  had  not  been  destroyed. 

When  the  young  are  fully  fledged  they  appear  to  be 
abandoned  by  their  parents,  but  in  the  month  of 
November  Chaffinches  congregate  in  flocks  and  continue 
partially  gregarious  throughout  the  winter.  I  would 
here  make  a  few  remarks  on  the  separation  of  the  sexes 
of  these  birds  in  the  winter  months.  This  singular 
separation  does  not,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  take  place  in 
resident  species,  or,  at  most,  in  very  limited  numbers,  for 
our  resident  birds  are  to  be  seen  in  company  the  winter 
through.  In  November,  however,  vast  flocks  of  Chaf- 
finches appear,  notably  in  the  beech  woods,  whither  they 
go  to  feed  on  the  mast,  and  what  is  strange  about  them 
is  they  are  all  or  nearly  all  males.  These  Chaffinches  are 
not  the  birds  who  remain  stationary  with  us  throughout 
the  year,  but  I  am  led  to  conjecture  that  they  arrive 
from  the  north.  A  little  later  in  the  season  quantities 
of  female  Chaffinches  arrive,  and  frequent  the  corn  lands 
in  company  with  other  Finches.  Thus  we  see  that  the 
migrations  of  the  Chaffinch  are  not  confined  to  the  male 
alone,  but  the  sexes  separate  to  perform  them,  owing  no 
doubt  to  the  higher  susceptibility  to  cold  in  the  male 
birds  causing  them  to  leave  before  the  females  ;  for 
after  they  have  been  here  some  little  time  both  sexes 
are  seen  in  each  other's  company.  I  always  notice,  too, 
that  in  the  severest  winters  female  Chaffinches  are  most 
numerous,  the  male  birds  doubtless  being  much  further 
south  in  a  warmer  atmosphere. 

In  the  summer  months  the  Chaffinch  is  an  insect 
feeder,  but  at  all  other  times  seeds  and  grain  form  his 
staple  sustenance.  The  Chaffinch  is  sometimes  seen 


THE   CHAFFINCH  AND  BRAMBLING.          177 


obtaining  insects  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Flycatcher, 
launching  itself  into  the  air,  and  after  a  short  fluttering 
flight  returning  to  a  perching  place.  In  winter  he  is  often 
seen  on  the  highway,  searching  amongst  the  manure  for 
^rain  and  insects ;  we  also  see  him  about  the  farmyards, 
•>n  the  corn-stacks,  feeding  in  company  with  Sparrows 
and  Buntings.  In  the  autumn  he  is  found  in  the  beech 
woods,  of  the  fruit  of  which  tree  he  is  passionately  fond, 
and  to  the  newly  sown  lands  he  often  repairs  to  feed  on 
the  grain.  Few  birds,  indeed,  contribute  more  to, the 
beauty  of  a  wintry  landscape  than  the  Chaffinch,  espe- 
cially where  the  evergreen  grows  in  profusion,  for  there 
he  is  seen  in  largest  numbers,  and  where,  after  spending 
the  short  winter's  day  on  the  neighbouring  fields,  he 
retires  to  rest  amongst  its  perennial  branches. 

When  the  Brambling  or  Mountain  Finch  arrives  in 
November  much  of  his  former  beauty  has  disappeared. 
His  black  plumage  is  mottled  with  a  rusty  hue,  and  his 
breast  is  not  so  bright  a  red  as  when  he  donned  it  for 
the  nuptial  season.  Still,  in  beauty  he  forms  no  mean 
rival  to  the  Chaffinch,  and  yields  the  palm  to  but  few 
of  our  resident  choristers. 

Once  arrived  in  a  locality,  the  Bramblings  seldom 
quit  it,  provided  food  and  shelter  can  be  obtained, 
until  the  returning  spring  sends  them  in  the  direction  of 
the  polar  star.  They  are  a  tame  and  confiding  little 
species,  if  not  continually  molested.  When  disturbed, 
they  do  not  all  take  wing  at  once,  but  in  little  parties. 
As  they  fly  from  the  observer  their  white  plumage  con- 
trasts richly  with  their  other  colours.  When  seriously 
alarmed  and  compelled  to  take  wing,  they  invariably 
take  refuge  on  the  tree  tops,  where,  packed  close  together, 
they  keep  up  a  twittering  concert  and  take  but  little 
notice  of  an  intruder.  In  midwinter  the  beech  woods 

N 


RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


are  an  animated  scene  in  those  districts  favoured  with 
the  Brambling's  presence.  The  birds  are  fond  of  the 
beech  mast,  and  we  see  them  in  all  directions  searching 
for  the  coveted  nuts,  all  the  time  keeping  up  a  Babel  of 
cries.  The  husks  are  falling  in  all  directions,  as  in  the 
branches  overhead  the  nuts  are  ejected  ;  some  of  the 
birds  are  feeding  on  the  nuts  strewing  the  ground  ;  while 
many  are  sitting  on  the  underwood,  their  wants  supplied, 
and  twittering  merrily.  They  are  also  fond  of  the  various 
seeds  found  in  woods,  plantations,  and  shrubberies. 
Manure  heaps,  too,  are  visited  for  various  kinds  of  animal 
substances,  as  worms  and  grubs,  as  are  also  the  newly 
manured  fields  for  the  same  purpose,  for  Bramblings 
seem  to  have  a  special  liking  for  animal  food.  Every 
evening  the  Brambling  may  be  seen  in  company  with 
the  Redwing,  seeking  safety  and  repose  amongst  the  ever- 
greens. Chaffinches  are  in  their  company,  too  :  indeed, 
the  Chaffinch  very  closely  resembles  the  Brambling  in 
its  habits  in  winter  time,  and  wherever  we  see  the  Bramb- 
ling we  may  rest  assured  Chaffinches  are  not  far  away. 

The  Brambling  stays  but  a  short  four  months  with 
us,  and  as  soon  as  the  first  signs  of  approaching  spring 
appear  they  leave  us  to  retire  northwards  for  the  pur- 
pose of  rearing  their  young  In  the  vernal  season  I  am 
always  on  the  look  out  for  any  Bramblings  that,  tempted 
by  the  seclusion  of  their  haunt  and  abundance  of  food, 
may  have  tarried  here  instead  of  journeying  northwards 
with  their  congeners,  but  hitherto  my  search  has  been 
fruitless  ;  and  I  draw  the  conclusion  that,  some  grand  end 
is  gained  by  these  birds  retiring  northwards,  and  which 
it  is  imperative  they  should  follow. 

Of  the  Brambling's  habits  in  the  nesting  season  I 
know  nothing  ;  but  the  egg,  judging  from  one  in  my  own 
possession,  is  slightly  larger  than  a  Chaffinch's  egg,  and 
more  boldly  marked. 


THE 

HOUSE  SPARROW  AND  TREE  SPARROW. 


THE  House  Sparrow  is,  strictly  speaking,  the  only  bird 
attendant  on  man.  Though  the  Robin  will  frequent 
our  thresholds  in  winter  time,  still,  when  once  his  accus- 
tomed food  becomes  plentiful,  he  retires  to  the  seclusion 
of  a  woodland  haunt.  Though  the  Swallows  course 
round  our  houses  in  spring  and  summer,  still  they  show 
as  much  attachment  to  the  wild  as.  man's  habitation. 
Though  the  Flycatcher  will  sit  in  moody  silence  on 
the  trees  bordering  our  windows,  still  he  loves  the  forest 
glades  equally  as  well,  or  even  better.  But  the  House 
Sparrow,  like  the  Hanoverian  rat,  finds  food  and  shelter 
wherever  man  dwells,  and  prefers  to  live  in  his  society 
far  better  than  in  the  richest  pastures  or  woodlands. 
In  the  crowded  streets  we  see  him  as  much  at  home  as 
round  the  country  cottage  ;  amidst  the  whirl  and  con- 
fusion of  the  railway  station  he  lives  as  happily  as  in  the 


i8o  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE; 

peaceful  farmyard.  If  man  emigrates  into  the  wild,  the 
Sparrow  goes  too,  subsists  upon  his  bounty,  and  rears  his 
young  in  safety  under  his  roof-tree.  In  fact,  wherever 
we  hear  his  merry  chirp,  or  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  pert 
little  form,  we  may  rest  assured  that  human  habitations 
are  not  far  away. 

Unlike  all  or  nearly  all  birds  of  the  Finch  tribe,  the 
House  Sparrow  is  gregarious  at  all  times  of  the  year ; 
and  what  is  more  interesting,  we  have  every  reason  to 
suppose  the  Sparrow  is  a  life-paired  species,  as  every 
season  we  find  their  old  nests  tenanted.  The  Sparrow 
maybe  found  breeding  throughout  the  spring  and  summer, 
and  in  some  instances  the  winter  too.  I  have  known 
their  nests  contain  newly-laid  eggs  in  December.  Their 
chief  breeding  season,  however,  is  in  April,  May,  and 
June,  and  during  these  months  we  sometimes  hear  the 
male  bird  utter  his  love  song.  Many  persons,  accus- 
tomed as  they  may  be  to  live  surrounded  by  Sparrows, 
have  never  heard  his  song  ;  and  this  is  not  at  all  Sur- 
prising, for  he  only  utters  it  at  rare  intervals,  and  then  in 
tones  low  and  soft.  The  song  itself  is  merely  a  few 
twittering  notes,  some  of  them  sweet  and  soft,  others  loud 
and  harsh,  and  differs  but  slightly  from  the  song  of  the 
Greenfinch. 

Sparrows  build  in  societies,  like  Rooks,  or  singly,  as 
circumstances  permit,  the  abundance  or  scarcity  of  nest- 
ing-sites influencing  them  in  this  matter.  When  the 
Sparrow  builds  its  nest  in  a  tree  the  structure  is  domed  : 
it  is  also  domed  when  placed  in  an  old  Magpie's  nest,  or 
in  the  crevices  of  the  Rook's  nest,  for  both  these  situa- 
tions, the  latter  especially,  are  often  selected ;  but  if 
made  under  eaves  or  in  holes  in  walls  and  trees  it  is  an 
open  one.  Various  indeed  are  the  materials  used  by  the 
House  Sparrow  for. making  its  nest.  If  in  the  branches 


HOUSE  SPARROW  AND   TREE  SPARROW.       181 

of  a  tree  or  amongst  ivy,  the  outside  of  the  structure  is 
made  of  dry  grass  and  straws,  and  lined  with  feathers  in 
abundance,  pieces  of  rag,  scraps  of  worsted,  or  any 
other  soft  materials  the  birds  can  secure.  Under  the 
eaves,  and  in  holes  of  trees,  rocks,  or  walls,  the  nest  is 
more  carelessly  put  together,  and  much  of  the  dry  grass 
and  straw  is  dispensed  with.  Sometimes  we  see  the 
Sparrow  fly  down  from  the  house-top  and  alight  in  the 
busy  street,  and  fly  back  with  a  straw  ten  times  as  long 
as  itself,  and  convey  it  under  the  eaves,  probably  leaving 
half  of  it  to  flutter  in  the  breeze,  for  a  slovenly  bird  is 
the  Sparrow  with  regard  to  its  nest. 

The  eggs  vary  considerably :  some  are  almost  white 
and  spotless,  others  are  blotched  with  rich  brown  mark- 
ings, while  many  are  spotted  and  blotched  with  brownish- 
black  ;  others  resemble  those  of  the  Pied  Wagtail.  They 
are  four  or  five  in  number.  The  Sparrow  often  sits  upon 
its  first  egg  as  soon  as  laid,  hence  we  often  find  newly- 
larid  eggs  and  eggs  partly  developed  in  the  same  nest. 
When  the  young  are  able  to  fly,  and  in  some  instances 
even  before,  they  accompany  their  parents  to  the  hedge- 
Vows,  that  is  to  say,  those  Sparrows  hatched  in  the 
country,  where  they  feed  on  insects  found  on  the  grass 
lands,  and  on  the  seeds  of  grasses  and  other  plants. 
This  mode  of  living  is  adopted  until  the  corn-fields  put 
on  their  darkening  tints,  sure  sign  of  the  ripening  grain, 
when  the  Sparrows  leave  the  grass  lands  and  subsist 
entirely  on  the  corn  and  oats,  very  often  to  the  serious 
loss  of  the  farmer. 

So  immense  are  some  of  these  flocks  of  Sparrows  in 
the  months  of  July  and  August,  that  many  persons  are 
led  to  suppose  that  the  greater  part  of  these  birds  are 
migrants.  If  we  visit  the  towns  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  Sparrows  in  plenty  are  seen  on  every  side ;  so,  too, 


i82  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

the  accustomed  haunts  of  the  bird  in  the  villages  and 
near  the  farm-houses  are  not  lessened  in  numbers  to  any 
perceptible  degree.  Yet  the  accounting  for  these  vast 
flocks  is  simple — two-thirds  of  them  at  least  are  birds 
of  the  year. 

Sparrows  are  very  pugnacious  birds,  and  it  is  no  un- 
common sight  to  witness  a  number  of  them  all  taking 
part  in  a  fierce  combat  amongst  themselves,  probably 
over  some  tempting  morsel  of  food,  or  through  their  very 
pugnacious  nature,  for  if  two  birds  commence  fighting 
they  are  speedily  joined  by  others,  and  very  soon  the 
combat  becomes  general.  In  the  hot  months  of  the 
year  the  Sparrow  appears  to  be  possessed  with  an  in- 
ordinate love  for  dusting  itself.  Sometimes  as  many  as 
half  a  dozen  are  seen  enjoying  this  luxury  in  company, 
and  so  persistent  are  they  in  this  dusting,  that  I  have 
seen  them  leave  the  limestone  roads  of  Derbyshire  with 
their  plumage  white  as  snow. 

But  few  persons  defend  the  Sparrow,  and,  indeed,  I 
fear  his  inordinate  love  of  grain  and  fruit  form  an  in- 
surmountable barrier  to  his  ever  getting  into  the  good 
graces  of  the  farmer  and  gardener.  But  after  all  the 
Sparrow  has  a  few  good  qualities,  which  would  prove  of 
service  to  him  if  they  were,  more  generally  known.  In 
the  spring  and  early  summer  months,  when  his  young 
are  being  reared,  his  food  consists  largely  of  the  cater- 
pillar of  the  cabbage  butterfly ;  as  also  does  the  perfect 
insect,  and  we  often  see  him  pursuing  them  in  the  air 
like  the  Flycatcher.  But  this  is  not  all :  the  flies  which 
abound  in  our  houses  are  also  consumed  by  the  Sparrow, 
as  are  spiders  and  the  grubs  which  infest  the  buds  of 
the  fruit  trees.  Even  when  feeding  on  the  grain  in  the 
autumn  months  his  inroads  are  not  entirely  confined  to 
that,  for  seeds  of  the  most  troublesome  weeds  are  eaten. 


HOUSE  SPARROW  AND   TREE  SPARROW.     183 

I  have  seen  Sparrows  eating  dock  seeds  ravenously,  and 
have  taken  out  of  their  crops  the  seeds  of  the  charlock 
or  wild  mustard — that  plant  which  so  often  chokes  the 
growing  grain,  and  spreads  its  golden  blooms  throughout 
an  entire  field.  We  must  also  bear  in  mind  that  our 
game  preservers  are  indirectly  responsible  for  many  of 
the  Sparrow's  ill  doings  ;  for  by  their  relentless  persecu- 
tion of  our  birds  of  prey  they  have  relieved  the  Sparrow 
of  vigilant  enemies  and  natural  guards  against  its  undue 
increase,  and  thereby  allowed  him  to  multiply  in  a 
manner  Nature  never  intended. 

The  Tree  Sparrow,  a  bird  differing  by  the  way  but 
slightly  from  its  cousin  the  House  Sparrow,  shows  a  choice 
of  habitat  directly  opposite.  While  the  House  Sparrow 
courts  man's  society,  the  Tree  Sparrow  shuns  it,  and 
retires  far  into  the  wilds  for  sustenance.  In  the  planta- 
tions, or  on  the  borders  of  the  mountain  torrent,  we 
sometimes  hear  his  peculiar  chirp  ;  and  miles  away  from 
man's  abode  we  are  often  gratified  with  his  pert  crafty 
•  appearance.  But  though  strictly  speaking  a  bird  of  the 
wild,  he  is  not  unfrequently  seen  in  the  fields  and  even 
in  the  farmyard  amongst  the  commoner  species.  The 
Tree  Sparrow  is  a  much  more  lively  species,  and  con- 
fines himself  for  the  most  part  to  trees.  His  voice  too 
is  different,  being  more  shrill  and  musical  than  the 
monotonous  chirp  of  the  house  species. 

As  the  Tree  Sparrow  is  a  bird  of  but  local  distribu- 
tion, though  certainly  thought  to  be  much  rarer  than  it 
really  is,  we  are  not  often  gratified  by  a  sight  of  his  nest. 
Xests  that  have  come  under  my  own  observation  were 
placed  in  holes  in  trees,  and  such  situations,  with  holes 
in  rocks,  I  consider  are  peculiar  to  this  species,  for  the 
bird  seldom  or  probably  never  builds  it  in  the  open  air. 
The  nest  also  is  nothing  near  so  comfortable  as  that  of 


184  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


the  House  Sparrow,  its  materials  consisting  of  dry  grasses 
and  a  few  feathers.  The  eggs  are  five  and  sometimes 
six  in  number,  slightly  smaller  than  the  House  Sparrow's, 
and  dull  white  in  ground  colour,  with  rich  brown  blotches 
and  spots.  When  the  young  are  hatched  both  the  old 
birds  are  very  noisy,  and  will  rarely  indeed  allow  you  to 
approach  them  closely.  I  am  of  opinion  that  but  one 
brood  is  reared  in  the  year.  The  Tree  Sparrow  appears 
to  be  much  more  insectivorous  in  its  food  than  the  House 
Sparrow,  although  both  species  may  be  seen  in  company 
on  the  corn  lands  in  autumn. 

As  the  Tree  Sparrow  so  closely  resembles  the  domes- 
tic species,  I  have  small  doubt  but  what  they  are  confused 
together  and  all  viewed  as  House  Sparrows.  Yet  in  the 
wilder  districts  the  Tree  Sparrow  probably  abounds,  and 
may  easily  be  detected  from  the  commoner  species  by  the 
two  white  patches  on  the  sides  of  the  neck,  its  small 
size,  and  its  more  trim  and  active  appearance,  and  the 
singular  wariness  of  its  disposition. 


THE   BULLFINCH. 

THE  Bullfinch  is  a  peculiar  yet  very  handsome  bird. 
You  can  never  confound  him  with  any  other  Finch,  for 
his  bright  red  breast,  jet  black  head,  and  beautiful  blue 
upper  plumage  of  silky  texture,  and  the  metallic  gloss 
of  his  blue-black  tail,  and  the  white  patch  on  the  rump, 
make  him  a  bird  easily  recognised.  In  form,  too,  he 
differs  considerably  from  the  birds  known  as  Finches. 
His  beak  is  shaped  more  like  the  Parrot's,  with  which  he 
can  readily  feed  on  the  various  berries,  and  his  head  is 
more  square-looking,  and  puts  you  in  mind  of  the 
Hawk's. 

The  Bullfinch  is  a  bird  loving  retirement.  In 
summer  he  frequents  the  densest  thickets,  and  the 
gloomy  .evergreens  in  the  shrubberies,  and  as  we  wander 
through  these  situations  we  are  seldom  fortunate 
enough  to  catch  more  than  a  hurried  vfew  of  him  as 
he  retreats  still  further  into  the  shade.  However,  we 
ofttimes  get  a  view  of  him  in  the  winter  time,  when  the 
trees  and  hedgerows  are  leafless,  and  he  is  searching 


i86  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

their  buds  for  grubs,  or  sometimes  feeding  on  the  buds 
themselves.  He  delights  to  pay  the  orchard  a  visit, 
and,  perched  in  the  cherry  tree,  we  see  him  and  his  mate- 
for  they  seldom  or  never  flock,  but  go  in  pairs  the  winter 
through — going  over  the  branches,  shelling  out  the  buds, 
and  exploring  every  nook  and  cranny  like  the  little  Tit- 
mice do  ;  and  ever  and  anon  they  utter  their  peculiar 
piping  call  notes.  When  the  bare  boughs  begin  to  don 
their  verdure  the  Bullfinch  is  more  rarely  seen,  for  he 
now  retires  with  his  mate  to  the  most  secluded  thickets, 
where  he  will  build  his  nest. 

About  this  time,  too,  we  hear  his  low  soft  piping 
song,  given  forth  as  though  its  author  were  afraid  of 
warbling  higher  for  fear  of  being  noticed.  The  Black- 
cap warbler,  though  he  loves  retirement  well,  still  will 
sometimes  boldly  advance  and  warble  long  and  loud 
within  a  few  feet  of  you  ;  the  Chaffinch,  again,  will  pour 
out  his  spirited  warbles  close  beside  you  as  you  wander 
through  his  haunts  ;  but  the  shy  and  retiring  Bullfinch 
never  does  so,  and  it  is  nine  times  out  of  ten  that  you 
are  favoured  by  accident  in  hearing  his  low  tuneful 
melody. 

The  Bullfinch,  from  what  I  have  observed  of  its 
habits  and  economy,  I  pronounce  to  be  a  life-paired 
species.  When  the  mellow  leaves  of  autumn  are  falling, 
if  the  Bullfinch  is  seen  his  mate  bears  him  company ;  in 
winter,  as  the  bird  wanders  over  the  naked  branches,  it  is 
in  company  with  his  mate  ;  and  when  the  vernal  sun 
bids  annual  birds  seek  the  company  of  a  mate,  and 
strife  reigns  amongst  them,  the  Bullfinch  is  a  peaceful 
species,  for  his  mate  has  not  to  be  sought  for,  and 
wherever  his  bright  charming  colours  are  seen,  his  mate 
in  her  more  sober  garb  is  not  far  away.  Though  a  bird 
be  of  fine  form  and  handsome  colours,  these  attributes 


THE  BULLFINCH.  187 

are  not  at  all  a  sign  that  it  builds  a  neat  and  well  made 
nest.  Slovenly  indeed  is  the  cradle  of  the  Bullfinch  : 
placed  often  in  the  branches  of  the  yew  tree,  in  the 
closest  whitethorn  bushes,  or  amongst  the.  tangled 
vegetation  of  the  brake,  the  nest  in  the  first  place  is 
made  of  grasses,  rootlets,  moss,  and  twigs,  loosely  put 
together ;  while  the  inside  is  lined  with  fibrous  roots, 
and  sometimes  wool  and  feathers,  or  even  vegetable 
down.  The  eggs  are  four  or  five  in  number,  bluish- 
green  in  ground  colour,  spotted  with  purplish-red,  some- 
times forming  a  zone  round  the  larger  end.  The  male 
bird  is  seldom  seen  in  the  nesting  season,  and  the  female 
keeps  out  of  sight  as  much  as  possible,  and  leaves  her 
nest  upon  the  slightest  alarm,  and  flits  silently  into 
the  cover.  Indeed,  you  may  wander  near  the  nesting 
grounds  of  the  Bullfinch  and  be  totally  unaware  of  it, 
for  the  birds  are  probably  more  shy  and  retiring  in-  their 
manner  than  the  shyest  and  most  retiring  of  the  bashful 
little  warblers  themselves.  When  the  young  leave  the 
nest  they  are  soon  abandoned  by  their  parents,  though 
in  some  cases  it  is  probable  they  remain  in  company 
during  the  winter,  and  this  explains  the  circumstance  of 
seeing  the  birds  in  little  parties  at  that  season.  The 
moulting  season  of  the  Bullfinch  is  passed  over  in  gloomy 
silence,  and  we  seldom  see  the  birds  again  until  Novem- 
ber's blasts  have  stripped  the  hedgerows  of  their  leafy 
covering. 

The  food  of  the  Bullfinch  in  summer  is  partly  com- 
posed of  insects,  and  it  will  occasionally  hover  above 
various  plants,  and  secure  the  insects  and  beetles  upon 
their  leaves.  The  greater  part  of  the  year,  however,  the 
Bullfinch  depends  on  vegetable  matter  for  support.  He 
will  visit  various  forest  and  orchard  trees  and  prey  upon 
their  buds ;  he  will  frequent  the  hawthorn  hedges  and 


1 88  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

eat  the  haws,  shelling  out  the  stones  with  his  peculiar 
bill ;  and  he  also  eats  the  hips  of  the  rose  tree.  While 
the  majority  of  Finches  love  to  eat  the  smaller  seeds 
and  grain,  the  Bullfinch  loves  those  of  a  more  fleshy 
nature,  hence  he  prefers  certain  pulpy  buds  and  various 
berries.  In  the  month  of  January  the  Bullfinch  pays 
particular  attention  to  the  dock  plants,  on  whose  stems 
he  gracefully  poises  and  ejects  the  seeds,  the  husks 
strewing  the  ground  beneath,  his  rich  and  varied  plu- 
mage contrasting  richly  with  the  deep  browns  of  the 
docks'  withered  stems  and  seed-pods. 

The  Bullfinch  is  in  high  request  for  a  cage  bird,  and 
in  confinement  he  is  said  to  make  a  pretty  pet,  and  with 
careful  training  may  be  taught  to  pipe  various  airs. 
The  Bullfinch  is  probably  more  often  seen  in  confine- 
ment than  in  his  native  haunts  ;  but  I  would  far  rather 
deny'  myself  the  pleasure  of  ever  seeing  his  rich  and 
varied  plumage  than  confine  him  in  a  cage. 

We  often  find  that  the  more  showy  and  handsome 
the  bird  the  more  it  loves  retirement.  The  Kingfisher 
elects  to  sit  in  moody  silence  far  in  the  shade,  and 
delights  in  retirement ;  the  Bullfinch,  though  so  showy 
in  appearance,  still  mopes  away  his  time  far  from  the 
open.  It  may  be  that  Nature  has  a  purpose  in  sending 
these  her  brightest  gems  into  seclusion,  for  there  they  at 
least  find  safety,  which  they  would  not  were  they  of 
more  open  habits,  for  their  charming  beauty  would  in- 
evitably prove  their  destruction. 


THE  LTNNET  AND  REDPOLL. 

THOUGH  the  Greenfinch  is  sometimes  known  in  the 
country  as  the  '  Linnet/  still  there  is  but  one  Finch  in 
Britain  really  called  that  name,  and  that  is  the  bird  with 
which  we  are  at  present  interested. 

The  Linnet  has  nothing  in  its  plumage  particularly 
striking  save  the  rosy  hue  which  adorns  the  breast  of* the 
male  in  the  breeding  season,  and  which  contrasts  well 
with  the  rich  brown  upper  plumage.  But,  nevertheless, 
it  is  a  very  interesting  little  creature,  and  has  a  pleasing 
song.  It  is  common  in  most  districts  in  the  winter  time, 
frequenting  the  waste  grounds  and  weedy  places,  and  in 
the  summer  months  repairing  to  the  gorse  coverts,  where 
it  builds  its  nest. 

Linnets  are  found  in  flocks  up  to  the  period  of  the 
vernal  equinox.  A  little  previous  to  that  time  the  male 
birds  commence  to  sing  in  low  and  subdued  tones,  but 
as  the  season  advances  the  song  increases  in  vigour,  and 
when  the  males  of  an  entire  flock  are  all  warbling  forth 
their  notes  we  have  a  concert  that  Orpheus  himself  would 


190  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

pause  in  his  labours  and  listen  to  with  delight.  But 
these  concerts  are  soon  no  longer  heard,  for  the  males 
have  each  gained  the  attentions  of  a  mate,  and  by  mutual 
understanding  the  whole  flock  is  disbanded. 

Let  us  follow  one  of  the  pairs,  and  bear  them  company 
throughout  the  summer.  They  frequent  their  winter 
haunt  perhaps  for  a  day  or  so  after  the  flock  have  dis- 
persed, and  then  high  up  in  the  air  they  wing  their  way, 
twittering  to  each  other  as  they  go,  to  the  higher  lands. 
There  is  a  gorse  covert  below  them,  just  on  the  borders 
of  a  rugged  moor,  and  with  a  peculiar  dipping  motion 
they  alight  in  its  prickly  fastness.  Here  for  days,  it  may 
be  weeks,  they  frequent  the  covert,  hopping  from  spray 
to  spray,  the  male  bird  singing  with  renewed  vigour  as 
the  vernal  season  expands  its  loveliness.  But  the  birds 
have  a  purpose  in  coming  hither,  and,  prompted  by 
resistless  impulse,  they  set  about  preparing  for  the 
comforts  of  their  future  young.  A  convenient  site  is 
soon  chosen  amongst  the  gorse,  for  the  Linnet  prefers  it 
to  any  other  shrub,  and  a  little  home  is  speedily  advanc- 
ing to  completion.  In  the  first  place,  moss  and  dry 
grass  is  used,  sometimes  strengthened  with  a  few  of  the 
dead  sprays  of  the  gorse,  and  wool  taken  from  its 
branches,  left  there  by  the  sheep  in  its  struggles  to  pass 
through  the  almost  impenetrable  mazes  ;  then  the  inside 
is  lined  with  hair,  feathers,  wool,  and  vegetable  down. 
But  a  few  days  are  taken  up  in  the  erection  of  the  nest, 
and  the  first  egg  is  laid  soon  after  its  completion.  Six 
eggs  are  deposited,  more  rotund  than  those  of  the  Green- 
finch, and  smaller,  bluish-green  in  ground  colour,  speckled 
with  tiny  markings  of  deep  red.  On  these  both  birds 
sit,  though  the  female  does  so  most  frequently.  Silence 
is  the  protective  power  usually  employed  by  the  Linnet 
for  the  safety  of  its  nes^  and  you  may  sometimes 


THE  LINNET  AND  REDPOLL.  191 

remove  the  parent  bird  with  your  hand,  so  closely  does 
she  sit  ;  yet  when  rudely  scared  from  her  home  she 
sometimes  tries  by  various  alluring  motions  to  draw  all 
your  attention  upon  herself.  The  greater  part  of  the 
male  bird's  time,  when  not  on  the  nest,  is  taken  up  in 
singing  from  some  neighbouring  spray.  Should  you 
alarm  him,  he  suddenly  ceases,  and  takes  refuge  in  the 
thickest  parts  of  the  covert,  there  to  remain  until  all  danger 
has  gone.  When  the  young  can  leave  the  nest  they  are 
attended  by  their  parents  until  the  flocking  time  in  July, 
or  left  to  themselves  if  the  old  birds  rear  another  brood, 
which  they  often  do. 

In  July  the  pair  of  Linnets  that  have  resided  in  the 
upland  gorse  covert  all  the  summer,  leave  it,  and  are 
joined  by  other  families,  and  wing  their  way  back  again 
to  their  accustomed  winter  haunt,  fresh  arrivals  swelling 
their  numbers  as  they  go.  There  they  frequent  the 
grounds  overrun  with  weeds,  feeding  on  the  various 
seeds.  They  are  not  shy,  and  when  in  motion  the  white 
parts  of  their  plumage  tell  out  in  rich  contrast  against 
their  rich  brown  other  parts.  The  male  bird  has  now  lost 
his  song,  and  their  only  note  is  a  shrill  and  musical 
twitter.  When  disturbed,  they  all  fly  off  together,  and 
take  refuge  on  the  topmost  branches  of  the  nearest  tree, 
all  perching  close  together ;  but  when  the  danger  has 
passed  they  leave  the  tree  in  a  long  straggling  train. 
Linnets  seem  to  keep  their  own  society,  probably  more 
so  than  any  other  Finch.  Seldom  indeed  are  any  other 
birds  seen  in  their  company,  save  a  few  Twites  and  Red- 
polls, their  very  close  congeners. 

Flocks  of  Linnets  are  very  often  seen  on  the  sea 
coast,  frequenting  the  waste  lands,  and  it  is  not  impro- 
bable these  birds  are  migrants  ;  for  I  am  satisfied  in  my 
own  mind  that  all  or  nearly  all  our  British  Finches  are 


192  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

increased  in  numbers  in  winter  time  by  strangers  from 
lands  where  the  snow  lies  too  deep  for  them  to  procure 
their  food,  and  where  the  cold  is  so  keen  that  it  is  un- 
bearable. 

The  Redpoll  may  always  be  distinguished  from  the 
Linnet  by  its  small  size  and  peculiar  notes,  and  by  the 
ruby-coloured  patch  of  plumage  on  the  crown  of  the 
head,  from  which  it  takes  its  name. 

In  the  summer  months  the  majority  of  Redpolls 
retire  northwards  to  breed  :  still  I  often  find  his  nest  in 
the  hedgerows,  or  in  the  young  fir  plantations.  A  tiny 
little  structure  it  is,  placed  in  some  convenient  crotch, 
like  the  Chaffinch's,  and  made  of  moss,  sometimes  a 
few  slender  twigs,  rootlets,  and  dry  grass,  and  lined  with 
feathers  and  the  down  from  the  willow  tree  and  other 
plants.  It  is  seldom  found  completed^  before  the  latter 
end  of  May,  and  the  eggs,  about  the  size  of  a  Willow 
Warbler's,  are  four  or  five  in  number,  greenish-blue  in 
ground  colour,  spotted  with  purplish-red,  and  sometimes 
streaked  with  deep  brown.  The  Cuckoo  will  sometimes 
pay  the  Redpoll  a  visit,  and  deposit  an  egg,  which  the 
little  birds  tend  with  as  much  care  as  their  own.  When 
the  young  are  hatched,  if  you  approach  their  nest,  the 
old  birds  become  very  anxious  for  their  safety.  They 
flit  from  spray  to  spray,  now  alighting  in  the  neighbour- 
ng  trees,  and  then  flying  round  your  head,  all  the  time 
keeping  up  an  incessant  chorus  of  twittering  notes. 
During  the  nesting  season  the  male  bird  occasionally 
utters  a  short  and  pleasing  song,  but  when  the  young 
are  reared  his  notes  cease  to  be  heard,  unless,  indeed,  he 
may  have  a  second  brood  ;  but  this  I  doubt,  for  as  they 
breed  so  late  in  season,  and  are  seen  in  flocks  in  August, 
there  is  no  time  for  one. 

As  soon  as  the  young  are  reared  the  Redpoll  be- 


THE  LINNET  AND  REDPOLL. 


comes  a  gregarious  species  ;  family  joins  family,  until 
a  considerable  flock  is  formed,  whose  members  keep 
united  until  the  vernal  season  bids  them  again  separate 
for  the  continuation  of  their  species.  The  Redpoll  is 
another  of  my  little  special  favourites  ;  his  trustfulness 
makes  him  so.  See  how  they  alight  within  a  few  yards 
of  you,  to  pick  out  the  seeds  of  various  plants,  and  with 
what  little  shyness  or  show  of  fear  they  allow  you  to 
observe  them  when  perched  on  the  surrounding  hedge- 
rows, or  when  exploring  the  trees  in  every  conceivable 
attitude.  Even  if  suddenly  disturbed,  they  merely  fly 
into  the  air,  uttering  their  pleasing  twittering  notes,  and, 
after  wheeling  about,  they  again  settle  close  to  you  as 
before.  We  find  that  the  young  birds  do  not  wear  the 
unassuming  though  lovely  garb  of  their  parents,  nor  have 
they  the  patch  of  deep  ruby-coloured  plumage  that 
adorns  the  crown  of  their  sire  :  but  upon  the  return  of 
the  following  summer  the  little  creatures  receive  their 
garb  of  maturity. 

The  food  of  the  Redpoll  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
year  may  be  said  to  be  composed  of  seeds  of  various 
kinds,  the  greater  part  of  them  belonging  to  the  most 
noxious  weeds,  such  as  thistles,  wild  mustard,  docks,  and 
a  hundred  others.  Upon  grounds  covered  with  these 
weeds,  we  see  the  Redpoll  in  greatest  abundance.  A 
favourite  situation  for  them  in  November  is  the  alder 
swamps,  when  the  trees  are  covered  with  ripe  seed  -cones. 
In  a  little  flock  keeping  close  together  they  explore  the 
branches  and  eject  the  seeds,  the  husks  dropping  in  all 
directions.  In  every  possible  attitude,  like  the  Tits,  they 
gain  their  purpose  ;  if  alarmed,  merely  flitting  buoyantly 
away,  wheeling  round  in  the  air  for  a  short  time,  to  again 
alight  on  probably  the  same  tree,  where  they  at  once  set 
to  work  as  before.  In  midwinter  they  visit  the  dry  and 

O 


I94  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

withered  nettles,  to  feed  on  the  tiny  seeds.  Clinging  to 
the  stems,  they  gain  their  purpose,  and  the  husks  strew- 
ing the  ground  beneath  tell  us  in  silent  language  of  the 
Redpolls'  usefulness  to  man.  When  all  the  train  of 
choristers  that  seeks  our  land  in  summer  has  left  us,  and 
the  winter  makes  all  things  cold  and  cheerless,  the  Red- 
polls occur  in  much  larger  numbers,  The  far  north, 
where  they  love  to  spend  their  summer,  is  now  uninhabit- 
able, and  they  flock  hither  for  food  and  safety.  At 
night  the  evergreen's  ever  verdant  branches  afford  them 
warmth  and  shelter  from  the  biting  winds,  and  it  is  just 
as  the  blood-red  wintry  sun  is  sinking  through  a  sky  of 
leaden  hue  that  they  seek  repose. 


GOLDFINCH. 


THE   GREENFINCH  AND   GOLDFINCH. 

THE  Greenfinch  is  another  bird  whose  beauty  is  of 
no  mean  order,  its  rich  green  and  golden-yellow  plumage 
being  every  bit  as  beautiful  as  many  of  the  feathered 
gems  of  southern  climes.  As  cultivation  and  improve- 
ment advance,  so  too  does  the  Greenfinch,  and  we  find 
him  around  the  highly  cultivated  fields  and  in  our  gar- 
dens and  pleasure  grounds.  But  the  place  the  Green- 
finch loves  best  to  frequent  is  the  shrubberies  near  man's 
habitation,  where  he  can  find  warmth  and  safety  in  the 
winter  months,  and  where,  when  summer  reigns,  he  can 
rear  his  brood  in  peace.  He  warbles  occasionally 
throughout  the  summer  and  autumn  months,  but  we 
must  hear  his  performance  in  the  mating  season,  which 
takes  place  in  April,  to  form  a  correct  idea  of  his  musical 
powers.  His  song,  it  is  true,  is  slightly  monotonous,  but 
very  sweet,  portions  of  it  being  equally  as  pleasing  as 
the  song  of  the  Canary.  It  is  tremulous  and  chirping, 


196  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 


and  wants  the  sprightliness  of  the  Chaffinch.  But  to 
hear  his  song  at  its  best  we  must  hear  several  of  the  birds 
singing  together,  when  the  various  parts  are  uttered  in 
wild  confusion  :  then  we  hear  music  beautiful  in  the 
extreme. 

When  the  Chaffinch  quits  the  shrubberies,  a  few  weeks 
after  the  vernal  equinox,  the  Greenfinch  repairs  to  them 
in  large  numbers  for  the  purpose  of  nesting.  The 
Greenfinch,  though  not  what  we  can  class  as  a  strictly 
gregarious  bird  in  the  summer  months,  is  still  one  very 
sociable  amongst  its  kind  ;  and  we  often  find  numbers 
of  their  nests  within  a  very  small  area,  sometimes  two  in 
the  branches  of  the  same  tree.  Although  the  birds 
breed  in  large  numbers  amongst  the  evergreens  in  shrub- 
beries, still  numbers  of  their  nests  are  seen  in  the  hedge- 
rows, notably  the  whitethorn.  We  also  find  it  fifty 
feet  or  more  from  the  ground,  in  the  ivy  growing  up  the 
forest  tree,  amongst  the  brambles  of  the  wild  rose, 
and  now  and  then  in  the  gorse.  Few  nests  are  more 
beautiful  -than  the  abode  of  the  Greenfinch.  The  out- 
side part  is  made  of  moss,  dry  grass,  and  wool,  through 
which  a  few  slender  twigs  are  sometimes  entwined  ; 
while  the  inside  is  lined  with  moss  in  the  first  place,  then 
hair,  and  feathers,  and  wool.  It  is  not  so  neatly  woven 
as  the  Chaffinch's  nest,  nor  is  it  so  well  made  or  cleverly 
concealed.  We  have  much  yet  to  learn  even  in  the 
simple  matter  of  birds'  nests.  The  Wren,  we  are  told, 
owes  the  compactness  and  beauty  of  her  nest  to  her 
slender  beak  and  long  legs  ;  yet  the  Chaffinch  or  Green- 
finch, with  her  thick  clumsy  bill  and  comparatively  short 
legs,  is  able  to  produce  masterpieces  of  nest  building. 
The  nests  of  the  thick-billed  birds  in  Britain  are,  take 
them  as  a  whole,  by  far  the  neatest,  and  more  compactly 
built  than  any  of  our  soft-billed  birds,  many  of  whose 


THE   GREENFINCH  AND   GOLDFINCH.          197 

nests  are  but  slightly  and  poorly  built.  This  interesting 
subject  might  be  pursued  much  further,  for  it  is  indeed 
a  subject  as  yet  but  little  inquired  into.  But  we  will 
return  to  the  Greenfinch,  now  busy  with  nesting  duties. 

The  eggs  are  from  four  to  six  in  number,  of  a  pure 
white  ground  colour,  spotted  and  blotched  with  purplish- 
red.  The  Greenfinch  is  another  bird  who  sometimes 
sits  upon  her  first  egg  as  soon  as  laid.  When  you 
approach  the  nest  the  old  birds  become  very  noisy  and 
anxious.  Flitting  from  spray  to  spray,  they  utter  their 
monotonous, though  not  unpleasing  call  notes,  and  should 
the  nest  contain  young,  the  female  bird  will  approach  you 
closely,  and  by  every  action  and  cry  betray  the. keenest 
anguish.  The  young  of  the  Greenfinch  are  not  so  richly 
dressed  as  the  male,  and  they  are  spotted  and  streaked, 
yet  have  the  golden  yellow  in  the  wings.  They  remain 
in  company  with  their  parents  for  a  short  time  after 
quitting  the  nest,  when,  if  the  season  be  not  too  far 
advanced,  the  old  birds  leave  them  and  rear  a  second, 
and,  in  some  cases,  a  third  brood. 

Early  in  July  the  Greenfinches,  young  and  old,  con- 
gregate into  little  parties,  and  in  company  with  Sparrows 
frequent  the  grass  fields.  Here  we  see  them  fluttering 
over  the  mowing  grass,  catching  the  insects,  but  the  chief 
cause  of  these  visits  is  for  the  purpose  of  feeding  on  the 
seeds  of  the  grasses.  As  the  year  rolls  on  the  parties  of 
Greenfinches  become  larger,  as  the  birds  engaged  in 
rearing  the  late  broods  join  them,  and  then  the  corn 
fields  are  visited.  In  the  winter  the  Greenfinch  is  found 
in  company  with  the  Buntings,  feeding  upon  the  newly 
sown  corn  lands  ;  sometimes,  too,  we  see  them  eating 
the  holly  berries  and  picking  the  seeds  out  of  the  fir 
cones  in  company  with  the  Titmouse.  When  the  short 
winter's  day  is  passing  into  night,  as  we  wander  beneath 


198  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


the  gloomy  evergreens  we  notice  the  Greenfinches  in 
flocks  performing  various  wheeling  motions  in  the  air, 
and  finally  settle  down  to  repose.  The  holly  is  preferred 
to  any  other  shrub,  and  the  number  which  nightly  re- 
pair to  its  shelter  is  astonishing.  Numbers  of  other 
birds  roost  with  them,  as  Sparrows,  Chaffinches,  and 
Thrushes,  and  it  is  a  sight  worth  seeing  to  notice  their 
actions  both  at  nightfall  and  when  the  sun  again  sends 
them  to  the  neighbouring  fields  for  sustenance. 

The  Finches  are,  in  Nature's  economy,  entrusted  with 
the  task  of  keeping  the  weeds  in  subjection,  and  the 
Greenfinch  is  probably  one  of  the  most  useful,  for  its 
food  is  found  to  consist  for  the  greater  part  of  seeds 
most  hurtful  to  the  works  of  man.  The  charlock  that 
so  often  chokes  his  cereal  crops  is  partly  kept  in 
bounds  by  the  vigilant  Greenfinch,  who  prefers  its  tiny 
seeds  before  the  golden  grain.  The  dock,  whose  rank 
vegetation  would,  if  allowed  to  cast  all  its  seeds,  spread 
barrenness  around,  is  also  one  of  his  storehouses,  and  the. 
rank  grasses,  at  their  seeding  time,  are  his  chief  support. 

There  is  another  bird  to  which  I  would  give  a  passing 
notice  ere  the  Finches  are  bade  adieu,  and  that  is  the 
gay  and  elegant  little  Goldfinch.  Next  to  that  animated 
gem  the  refulgent  Kingfisher,  the  Goldfinch  is  thought 
by  many  persons  to  be  the  bird  standing  highest  in  the 
scale  of  beauty.  But  then  their  own  feelings  may  have 
biased  them  in  this  particular,  for  does  not  the  Stone- 
chat,  the  Gold  Crest,  and  the  Chaffinch,  the  Magpie  and 
the  Starling,  exhibit  charms  so  rich  and  varied,  that  in 
the  contest  for  beauty  it  is  difficult  to  say  which  carries 
off  the  palm  ? 

The  Goldfinch  with  me,  save  in  the  breeding  season, 
is  a  wanderer,  only  appearing  at  uncertain  intervals,  and 
remaining  until  the  seeds  which  tempt  his  sojourn  are 


THE    GREENFINCH  AND   GOLDFINCH.          199 

consumed.  I  see  them  usually  in  pairs  in  the  winter 
time,  sometimes  in  little  parties,  on  the  commons,  around 
the  tangled  weed-choked  hedgerows,  and  especially 
where  thistles  and  docks  are  abundant.  The  thistles  are 
a  favourite  place  for  the  Goldfinch,  and  where  those 
beautiful  though  unwelcome  weeds  are  found,  the  birds 
congregate  for  the  purpose  of  feeding  on  the  seeds,  and 
their  actions  at  these  times  and  the  variety  of  attitudes 
they  assume  form  a  pleasing  animated  sight.  They 
perch  on  the  thistle's  feathery  crown,  and  deftly  obtain 
the  seeds,  the  down  fluttering  away  on  the  breeze.  They 
cling  to  the  dock  stems,  and  with  sharp  twittering  notes 
eject  the  seeds,  and  then  in  graceful  airy  flight  sally  off  in 
search  of  more.  They  are  not  shy  birds,  provided  you  do 
not  greatly  alarm  them,  and  they  will  often  allow  you-  to 
witness  their  operations  but  a  few  yards  away. 

The  song  of  the  Goldfinch,  heard  in  early  April,  is 
loud  and  sweet,  and  its  merits  are  such  that  the  bird  is 
in  the  greatest  request  by  the  bird  fancier.  His  song, 
too,  is  said  to  be  improved  by  confinement ;  but  I 
myself  would  far  rather  see  him  flitting  from  stem  to 
stem  before  me,  and  hear  his  pleasing  song,  speaking  of 
liberty  and  free  as  air,  than  confine  him,  even  though  by 
so  doing  I  could  make  his  notes  sweeter  than  those  of 
any  other  songster. 

The  Goldfinch  is  rather  a  late  breeder.  In  the 
month  of  May,  sometimes  not  until  early  June,  we  find 
his  nest.  It  is  often  amongst  the  evergreens,  hanging 
suspended  from  a  drooping  bough  ;  sometimes  it  is  in 
the  fruit  trees  in  the  orchard,  or  in  the  hawthorn  hedges. 
The  nest  is  not  so  neatly  built  as  that  of  the  Chaffinch, 
nor  is  it  so  slovenly  as  the  nest  of  the  Greenfinch.  It 
is  made  of  grasses,  rootlets,  and  moss,  and  lined  with 
hair  and  feathers,  and  the  down  from  various  plants,  as 


200  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

thistles  and  groundsels.  All  the  materials  are  well 
woven  together,  and  the  nest  when  completed  is  very 
strong  and  compact.  The  eggs  are  pale  bluish-white, 
speckled  and  spotted  with  small  reddish-brown  markings, 
the  more  frequent  on  the  larger  end,  and  are  four  or  five 
in  number. 


THE  STARLING.  201 


THE   STARLING. 

A  VERY  interesting  bird  is  the  Starling.  Its  regular 
movements,  bright  and  glossy  plumage,  and  its  pleasing 
rambling  notes,  together  with  its  harmlessness  of  charac- 
ter, make  it  a  bird  of  special  favour  with  me.  We  find 
it  with  us  at  all  seasons  of  the  year,  and  it  is  in  fact  quite 
as  homely  as  the  rooks  themselves.  Its  habits,  too,  if 
carefully  studied,  will  be  found  to  closely  resemble  those 
of  its  sable  congener. 

Early  in  January  Starlings  visit  their  nesting-sites, 
and  continue  to  do  so  almost  daily  until  the  breeding 
season.  Regularly  every  morning  they  are  seen  sitting 
in  pairs  near  their  nesting-holes,  preening  their  feathers 
and  basking  in  the  genial  warmth  of  the  morning  sun, 
the  male  birds  whistling  their  varied  and  lively  notes. 
By  these  birds  returning  to  their  nesting-sites  at  various 
seasons  thus,  and  using  them  yearly  for  their  purpose, 
we  know  that  the  Starling,  like  its  congener  the  Rook, 
is  joined  to  its  partner  for  life.  In  the  vernal  year  the 
song  of  the  Starling  is  heard  to  perfection.  On  a  tree 
near  his  nesting-hole,  on  the  chimney-stack  or  on  the 
house-top,  he  is  heard  to  sing.  His  song  is  given 
forth  with  trembling  drooping  wings,  the  throat  is 
distended,  the  feathers  ruffled,  which  now  by  the  way 
shine  with  pristine  gloss,  and  the  whole  body  seemingly 
full  of  nervous  excitement.  Monotonous  in  parts  it 
perhaps  is,  but  it  is  a  song  in  which  all  the  com- 


202  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

ponent  parts  form  one  rich,  wild,  varied,  and  beautiful 
whole.  •  The  Starling  also  claims  rank  as  a  perennial 
songster,  for  his  tuneful  warblings  are  heard,  like  those 
of  the  Robin  and  Wren,  throughout  the  year. 

The  year  rolls  on  ;  every  available  hole  is  secured 
and  zealously  guarded  by  its  watchful  owners,  and  the 
Starling  must  see  about  the  construction  of  its  rude 
abode.  Under  the  eaves  of  our  dwellings,  in  old  \\alls 
and  ruined  ivy-mantled  towers,  and  in  the  holes  of  the 
forest  trees,  all  prove  acceptable  to  the  Starling.  Should 
the  reader  wish,  if  suitably  situated,  to  encourage  these 
birds  around  him  in  the  nesting  season,  he  need  only 
place  several  small  boxes,  with  a  hole  in  their  sides  for 
the  entrance  of  the  birds,  in  the  trees  near  at  hand,  or 
fasten  them  to  the  walls  of  his  dwelling,  and  the  Star- 
lings will  invariably  take  possession  of  them.  The  nest 
of  the  Starling  is  a  very  slovenly  structure,  composed  of 
straws,  grass,  and  a  few  feathers  ;  even  rags,  twine,  or 
paper  will  be  utilised,  if  conveniently  near  at  hand. 
But  nevertheless  the  nest  itself  is  small,  and  forms  a  com- 
pact bed  for  the  eggs,  which  are  four  or  five  in  number, 
and  very  beautiful,  being  of  a  clear  greenish-blue,  entirely 
devoid  of  markings.  They  are  as  a  rule  very  elongated, 
but  some  few  specimens  are  almost  round.  We  often 
find  eggs  of  the  Starling  laid  in  grass  fields  frequented 
by  the  birds,  and  these  eggs  are  very  often  quite  puzzling 
to  the  young  naturalist,  who  is  at  a  loss  to  identify  them. 
The  simple  reason  why  we  find  these  eggs  here  is  be- 
cause the  birds  have  not  sufficient  time  to  gain  their 
nest  for  the  purpose,  and  it  also  clearly  proves  that 
birds  have  not  the  power  of  withholding  their  eggs.  The 
young  Starlings  are  very  noisy  birds,  especially  when 
their  parents  enter  the  hole  with  food.  Suc"h  a  chorus 
of  cries,  and  what  a  number  of  hungry  little  beaks  are 


THE  STARLING.  203 


opened  together  !  The  old  birds  have  plenty  of  work  to 
keep  all  these  little  mouths  supplied,  and  they  may  be 
seen  to  bring  food  to  the  nest  every  two  minutes,  and 
keep  up  their  labours  for  sixteen  hours  every  day.  The 
food  is  obtained  from  the  neighbouring  grass  lands,  and 
consists  entirely  of  worms  and  snails.  Upon  alighting 
near  the  nest  with  food,  you  see  the  bird  look  warily 
around,  and,  if  all  be  safe,  hastily  enter  the  nesting-hole. 
Sometimes  before  the  bird  has  finished  feeding  the 
young  its  mate  arrives,  and  waits  patiently  for  its  ap- 
pearance, for  very  rarely  indeed  do  both  birds  enter  the 
nest  together,  when,  with  a  chirp  of  mutual  love,  each 
pursues  its  way,  the  one  to  the  fields,  the  other  to  its 
young.  And  thus  the  birds  labour  on  for  many  days, 
until  their  young  are  sufficiently  matured  to  quit  the 
nest  and  repair  with  their  parents  to  the  pastures. 
Deceptive  motions  are  one  of  the  Starling's  forms  of 
protective  powe^  especially  where  the  birds  are  much 
persecuted ;  but  the  Starling  sometimes  protects  its 
eggs  or  young  by  '  force  of  arms/  and  will,  like  the 
Stormcock,  dash  boldly  into  the  face  of  an  intruder, 
and  make  the  air  resound  with  its  harsh  and  grating 
cries.  Starlings  rear  two,  and  often  three,  broods  in  a 
season. 

The  young  are  *such  strange  looking  birds  when 
fledged,  regular  nondescripts  in  fact,  that  anyone  not 
acquainted  with  the  natural  history  of  the  Starling  would 
be  at  a  loss  to  name  them.  Even  many  learned  men 
formerly  fell  into  error  over  the  circumstance,  and  called 
the  young  Starling  the  dusky  Thrush,  thinking  it  to  be 
quite  a  distinct  species,  so  different  is  it  from  its  gaily 
dressed  parents.  It  is  dark  brown  on  the  upper  parts, 
and  the  under  parts  much  lighter,  and  possesses  none  of 
the  rich  markings  or  pristine  gloss  of  the  adult  birds. 


204  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

In  the  autumnal  moult  the  birds  gain  their  rich  and 
glossy  plumage. 

The  food  of  the  Starling  is  for  the  most  part  com- 
posed of  worms  and  slugs,  although  in  the  autumn  they 
will  feed  on  fruit.  I  have  known  them  devour  elder- 
berries ravenously,  and  the  garden  fruits  too  are  eaten. 
But  these  inroads  on  fruit  are  but  trifling,  for  the  Starling 
as  a  rule  obtains  his  sustenance  from  the  grass  fields 
alone.  Starlings  are  guided  by  sight  alone  in  obtaining 
their  food.  It  is  a  pleasing  sight  to  watch  a  company  of 
these  birds  searching  for  food.  Nimbly  they  run  and 
walk  about,  picking  up  the  slugs  or  drawing  the  worms 
from  their  hiding-places.  Sometimes  one  of  the  birds 
will  find  an  unusually  large  worm,  and  then  several  others 
will  if  possible  strive  to  gain  a  share,  and  harsh  cries 
prevail  until  the  tempting  morsel  is  despatched.  When 
flushed,  Starlings  rise  simultaneously,  and  usually  alight 
in  the  same  manner.  When  these  birds  and  Rooks  are 
feeding  in  company,  the  Starlings  always  keep  together. 
No  satisfactory  reason  has  yet  been  given  for  this  that  I 
am  aware  of.  But  may  not  these  birds  keep  together 
for  this  purpose  ?  When  about  to  take  flight  all  fly  up 
together.  Jackdaws,  if  any  be  present,  fly  with  the  Rooks, 
but  the  Starlings  keep  in  one  dense  flock.  And  is  not 
this  because,  did  the  birds  rise*  promiscuously,  the 
Starlings  would  have  difficulty  in  flying  amongst  a 
flock  of  their  corvine  brethren,  and  no  doubt  get  sepa- 
rated. The  Jackdaws,  being  as  large  as  the  Rooks,  or 
nearly  so,  experience  no  inconvenience. 

A  bird  gifted  with  surprising  powers  of  flight  is  the 
Starling.  I  often  see  them  coursing  through  the  air  in 
search  of  insects,  like  Swallows,  and  then  their  powers 
of  wing  are  seen  to  perfection.  At  other  times  the 
Starling  passes  through  the  air  on  a  rapid  beat  of  wing 


THE  STARLING.  205 


and'  in  a  straight  unwavering  course.  He  who  has 
dissected  a  Starling  will  know  at  once  that  the  bird 
is  admirably  adapted  for  a  flight  rapid  and  well  sus- 
tained. 

The  Starling  is  a  strictly  gregarious  bird,  and  would 
breed  in  societies,  like  Rooks  or  Jackdaws,  did  circum- 
stances favour  them ;  but  every  one  is  against  them,  no 
one  offers  them  his  protection,  and  the  poor  Starling  is 
a  lonesome  wanderer.  Perhaps  the  most  interesting 
time  to  study  the  habits  of  the  Starling  is  when  the 
young  are  reared,  and  the  birds  at  liberty  to  follow 
their  gregarious  habits.  By  the  middle  of  May  Starlings 
are  seen  in  flocks,  for  once  the  duties  of  the  year  are 
over,  each  family  seeks  the  company  of  its  kindred. 
Family  joins  family,  and  soon  a  large  flock  is  formed, 
and  now  the  birds  are  seen  feeding  together,  roosting 
together,  and,  in  fact,  in  company  all  the  time.  Here 
one  large  flock  roosts  in  a  group  of  whitethorn  trees, 
and  every  evening  I  see  them  wheeling  about  in  a  dense 
and  compact  body,  now  as  it  were  disappearing,  and 
again  appearing,  as  the  birds,  by  one  common  impulse, 
present  themselves  in  various  attitudes  to  the  light, 
waving  about  in  the  air  like  animated  network,  to 
settle  at  last  on  the  trees  of  the  selected  roosting  place. 

There  is  a  certain  regularity  of  movement  peculiar  to 
gregarious  birds  alone.  Every  evening,  as  soon  as  the 
sun  nears  the  western  horizon,  the  Starlings  may  be  seen 
at  their  accustomed  roosting  place,  perched  on  the  top- 
most branches,  and  blackening  the  trees  with  their 
numbers.  They  are  constantly  in  motion,  flitting  from 
tree  to  tree,  or  struggling  for  some  post  of  vantage. 
Every  few  moments  fresh  arrivals  appear,  and  glide 
gracefully  down  from  the  surrounding  tree  tops  to  join 
'  the  main  company.  Now  one  comes  alone,  sailing  with 


206  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

skimming  flight  from  on  high  to  settle  down  with  his 
congeners  ;  then  a  little  party  of  three  or  four  arrive 
fresh  from  the  neighbouring  grass  lands  and  join  the 
throng,  which  all  the  time  is  keeping  up  a  concert  of 
chattering,  warbling,  scolding,  and  whistling  notes. 
It  is  a  pleasing  sight  indeed  to  watch  the  evening 
motions  of  the  Starling,  at  a  season  when  they  all  live 
in  company,  and  in  a  spot  where  the  harmless  creatures 
fear  no  danger.  Now  numbers  take  a  wheeling  flight 
and  return  ;  others  repair  to  the  neighbouring  pastures 
to  seek  their  evening  meal,  but  to  return  long  before  the 
evening's  dusk,  when  the  birds,  enshrouded  by  the 
shadows  of  night,  and  their  noisy  warblings  o'er,  settle 
down  to  undisturbed  repose. 

One  year  our  flock  of  Starlings  was  an  unusually 
large  one,  and  every  evening  a  hundred  at  least  left  the 
main  flock  just  before  nightfall  and  flew  right  across  the 
valley  to  a  distant  roosting  place.  They  regularly  left 
every  evening  at  the  same  time,  winging  their  way  at  a 
considerable  height  in  the  heavens,  and  keeping  up  an 
incessant  chorus  of  harsh  unmusical  cries  as  they  went. 

He  who  loves  to  contemplate  the  face  of  smiling 
Nature,  and  watch  the  varied  motions  of  the  feathered 
tribes  around  him,  will  grieve  to  learn  that  the  poor 
harmless  Starling  is  often  caught  in  immense  numbers 
for  our  so-called  sportsmen — men  worthy  of  the  time- 
honoured  name  would  be  guilty  of  no  such  heartless 
conduct — who  shoot  the  poor  birds  for  mere  pastime  and 
wanton  amusement. 


JACKDAW. 


THE   JACKDAW  AND    CARRION  CROW. 

THE  Jackdaw  is  something  like  the  Rook  in  general 
appearance,  although  his  plumage  is  not  quite  so  glossy, 
and  he  has  a  patch  of  lignt  grey  plumage  on  the  crown 
and  nape.  He  is  also  in  size  much  smaller  than  the 
Rook,  being  perhaps  a  little  larger  than  the  Magpie, 
and  his  passage  through  the  air  is  performed  with  a  more 
rapid  beat  of  wing  than  that  bird.  Like  the  Crow 
family  in  general,  he  is  not  particular  as  to  the  choice 
of  a  haunt.  On  the  rock-bound  coast  we  hear  his  pecu- 


208  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

liar  cry  as  he  wings  his  way  to  the  inland  pastures  ; 
amid  the  bleak  upland  wilds  he  lives  secure  amongst 
the  limestone  rocks  ;  while  in  the  more  cultivated  dis- 
tricts we  see  him  soaring  round  the  old  church  towers 
and  amongst  the  ivied  ruins.  He  will  also  associate  with 
the  Rooks,  and  rear  his  young  in  holes  in  the  trees  which 
contain  their  nests.  The  Rook  loves  to  live  near  the 
mansion  when  in  the  height  of  its  prosperity,  the 
Jackdaw  when  it  is  a  heap  of  mouldering  ruins.  And 
why  ?  Simply  because  he  can  find  abundant  holes  in 
which  to  rear  his  young  amongst  the  ruins  ;  but  when 
the  building  was  inhabited  by  man  no  holes  in  which 
the  Daw  could  nestle  were  allowed  to  remain. 

The  Jackdaw  resembles  the  Rook  in  his  general 
habits,  and  indeed  flocks  with  them,  roosts  with  them, 
and  only  leaves  their  company  when  called  upon  to  re- 
produce his  species.  The  Jackdaw  is  a  strictly  gregarious 
bird,  and  lives  in  companies  like  the  Rook.  Daily  we 
see  them  wing  their  way  to  the  pastures,  and  obtain 
their  food,  and  then  spend  their  time  either  sporting  in 
the  air  or  resting  in  the  neighbouring  trees  until  the  sun 
approaches  the  western  horizon,  when  they  congregate, 
or  separate  into  little  parties,  and  retire  to  their  roosting 
place,  which  is  usually  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their 
nesting  grounds.  When  evening  is  fast  settling  into 
night  I  often  linger  and  watch  the  motions  of  the  Daws 
ere  settling  down  to  rest.  Their  homes  are  in  great 
plenty  in  the  limestone  cliff  above  me,  rearing  its  hoary 
summit  to  the  skies,  and  seared  and  furrowed  by. many 
a  scar.  Only  a  few  birds  are  at  first  seen,  but  suddenly 
their  well-known  cries  disturb  the  tranquil  air,  and  the 
birds  appear  in  view  flying  closely  together,  a  few  strag- 
glers being  in  the  rear.  After  circling  in  the  air  a  short 
time  they  alight  in  little  parties  on  the  stunted  trees 


THE   JACKDAW  AND   CARRION  CROW.        209 

growing  from  the  cliff's  rugged  sides  some  three  hundred 
feet  above  me,  while  a  few  pay  visits  to  their-  nesting- 
holes  ;  yet  all  finally  settle  down  to  rest  on  the  branches 
of  the  trees,  where,  summer  and  winter  alike,  they  brave 
the  elements  in  their  exposed  and  lofty  roosting  place. 

The  Jackdaw  breeds  very  late  in  the  year,  for  the 
Rooks  have  young  even  before  they  commence  laying. 
Many  persons  endeavour  to  show  us  that  all  birds  nest- 
ing in  holes  of  man's  habitation  show  a  change  of  habit, 
and  bring  these  instances  forward  as  bearing  on  the 
theory  of  Natural  Selection.  They  tell  us  that  the 
Jackdaw  shows  an  affection  for  the  church  steeple,  which 
can  hardly  be  explained  by  instinct.  Now  it  is  the 
Jackdaw's  peculiar  habit  to  nestle  in  holes  of  trees  or 
rocks,  but  when  these  holes  were  found  in  church  steeples 
and  other  artificial  places,  the  Jackdaw  resorted  to  them 
just  as  he  would  resort  to  the  cliff  or  tree,  both  answer- 
ing his  purpose  equally  as  well.  We  have  yet  no  proof 
that  the  Daw  can  distinguish  any  difference  from  these 
holes  and  the  holes  formed  by  Nature.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  Starling  and  the  House  Sparrow,  for  they  will 
both  build  readily  in  artificial  places  if  you  provide  them 
with  the  requisite  accommodation.  But  remember  the 
accommodation  afforded  must  resemble  that  to  which  the 
birds  are  naturally  in  the  habit  of  resorting  to,  otherwise 
your  attempts  will  be  in  vain.  You  can  no  more  entice 
the  Starling  to  build  amongst  ycur  evergreens  or  in  the 
branches  of  your  fruit  trees,  than  you  can,  by  making 
Holes  in  your  dwelling,  entice  the  Rooks  to  leave  the 
Mm  trees  and  take  up  their  abode  in  them.  The  Jack- 
daw, unlike  the  Rook  or  the  Carrion  Crow,  has  that  in 
its  economy  which  requires  it  to  bring  up  its  young  in 
a  hole,  like  the  Starling  to  wit,  and  we  find  he  nestles 
both  in  holes  of  rocks  and  trees,  also  church  steeples,  and 

p 


210  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

amongst  the  Gothic  architecture  of  cathedrals.  May- 
has  arrived  ere  the  Jackdaw  commences  her  rude  abode, 
that  is,  those  birds  setting  up  nest-building  for  the  first 
time,  or  those  whose  nests  need  repairing.  The  nest  is 
built  of  sticks,  and  lined  with  clods  of  turf,  moss,  wool, 
and  feathers,  and  the  eggs  are  four  or  five  in  number, 
pale  bluish-green  in  ground  colour,  spotted  and  speckled 
with  brown  of  various  shades  :  they  are  a  little  larger 
than  those  of  the  Magpie.  It  is  very  probable  that  the 
Jackdaw  rears  its  young  on  food  somewhat  different  to 
that  of  the  Rook,  and  this  will  then  explain  the  lateness  of 
their  breeding  season.  At  all  events  dissection  would 
place  the  matter  beyond  a  doubt. 

The  food  of  the  Jackdaw  is  just  as  varied  in  its 
nature  as  the  food  of  the  Rook.  In  the  early  months 
he  will  follow  the  plough,  and  frequent  the  newly  sown 
land  ;  he  will  frequent  the  -potato  fields  and  grass 
lands,  and  feed  upon  the  wire-worms.  In  spring  and 
summer  insects  and  grubs  form  his  main  support ;  in  the 
autumn  he  will  eat  the  acorns  and  beech  mast  ;  while  in 
the  winter,  when  hard  pressed,  he  will  prey  upon  carrion 
and  the  refuse  of  the  slaughter-house.  The  Jackdaw 
seems  not  to  be  persecuted  in  so  relentless  a  manner 
as  the  other  members  of  the  Crow  family,  yet  how  he 
has  gained  this  freedom  from  oppression  I  know  not. 
But  pity  it  is  his  congeners  cannot  indulge  in  the  same 
degree  of  safety,  for  their  usefulness  is  apparent  to  every 
one  who  makes  the  feathered  tribe  the  object  of  his 
study. 

The  Carrion  Crow  resembles  the  Rook  in  his  ap- 
pearance, but  he  is  rather  a  stouter-made  bird,  and  he 
never  has  the  throat  and  base  of  the  mandibles  bare  of 
feathers,  and  by  this  circumstance  alone  you  can  always 
tell  him  from  his  sable  congener.  We  see  the  Carrion 


THE  JACKDAW  AND   CARRION  CROW.        211 

Crow  on  the  bleak  and  rocky  coast,  subsisting  upon  the 
garbage  thrown  up  by  the  restless  deep ;  we  hear  his 
hoarse  croak  in  the  upland  districts,  even  on  the  grouse 
moors  and  sheep-walks  ;  but  the  home  he  loves  best  is 
in  the  well-wooded  districts — the  districts  which  abound 
most  with  his  food.  Here  we  ofttimes  see  him  on  the 
pastures  with  the  rooks,  but  he  seldom  or  never  asso- 
ciates with  them,  or  even  with  his  own  kindred,  for  more 
than  a  pair  are  rarely  seen  together. 

If  the  reader  would  wish  to  examine  the  cradle  of 
this  bold  and  wary  bird,  he  must  seek  it  far  in  the 
deepest  shades,  although  he  will  sometimes  rear  his 
young  a  stone's  throw  from  your  door ;  but  this  is  only 
where  he  lives  unmolested.  In  the  wooded  solitudes, 
therefore,  when  the  month  of  May  is  making  all  things 
pleasant  around  us,  the  Carrion  Crow  is  engaged  in 
bringing  up  his  young.  You  see  his  nest  in  the  top- 
most branches  of  the  oak,  sometimes  amongst  the 
tangled  foliage  of  the  fir,  or  far  up  in  the  swaying 
branches  of  a  lofty  elm.  It  matters  little  on  which  tree 
it  is  placed,  but  wherever  we  find  it  it  is  always  well 
made.  The  outside  is  made  of  sticks,  cemented  with 
mud  and  clay,  and  lined  in  the  first  place  with  the  same 
material ;  then  wool,  torn  from  the  backs  of  the  sheep 
in  the  neighbouring  pastures,  moss  from  the  ground 
beneath,  and  feathers  from  the  distant  poultry  yard,  all 
firmly  and  evenly  placed,  and  forming  a  bed  as  smooth 
as  the  rooty  bottom  of  the  Magpie's  nest.  On  this  the 
eggs  lie  bare  and  uncovered,  four,  or  more  rarely  five 
in  number,  and  often  only  three.  They  are  subject  to 
much  variation  both  in  size  and  colour,  and  closely 
resemble  those  of  the  Rook,  only  they  are  as  a  rule 
rather  larger.  The  Carrion  Crow  is  a  wary  bird,  and 
quits  her  nest,  if  it  only  contain  eggs,  the  moment  your 


212  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

footsteps  greet  her  ear  ;  though  if  the  intruder  be  one  of 
her  natural  enemies  she  will  fight  fiercely  in  defence  of 
her  eggs.  When  the  young  are  hatched  the  Carrion 
Crow,  made  bold  by  their  incessant  clamourings  for 
food,  pays  frequent  visits  to  the  poultry  yard,  and 
carries  off  the  Chickens  and  Ducklings,  on  which  to  feed 
them.  If  a  Pheasant  or  Partridge  be  driven  from  her 
nest  without  opportunity  of  covering  her  eggs,  they  are 
often  spied  out  by  the  Carrion  Crow,  and  borne  off  one 
by  one  in  his  strong  bill.  The  young  are  soon  aban- 
doned by  their  parents  after  gaining  the  use  of  their 
wings,  and  these  again  probably  separate  until  the 
following  season  bids  them  seek  the  company  of  a 
mate. 

The  Carrion  Crow  is  an  early  riser,  sometimes  being 
abroad  before  the  Rooks,  and  long  before  sunrise,  and 
when  the  gray  streaks  of  morning  appear  in  the  sky  his 
harsh  and  discordant  cry  is  heard  as  he  winnows  his  way 
through  the  air  from  his  roosting  place  to  the  distant 
feeding  grounds.  This  bird  is  one  not  very  particular  as 
to  the  choice  of  his  food.  He  will  eat  almost  anything, 
from  an  insect  to  an  acorn  ;  from  the  helpless  chicks  to 
the  feeble  wounded  hare  or  rabbit  ;  from  a  living  mouse 
or  rat  to  the  most  noisome  carrion.  Judging  from  his 
somewhat  varied  tastes,  the  Carrion  Crow  is  a  bird  sadly 
persecuted  by  the  gamekeeper  and  henwife.  Yet  withal 
his  services  could  ill  be  spared,  as  he  is  one  of  Nature's 
greatest  scavengers,  and  his  few  little  failings  are  amply 
repaid  by  the  good  he  undoubtedly  performs.  I  also 
think  the  wooded  districts  and  the  wild,  the  inland  moor 
and  the  rocky  coast,  are  greatly  enhanced  in  beauty  by 
the  bold,  yet  wary,  prying,  active,  and  graceful  Carrion 
Crow. 


THE  ROOK. 

THE  Rook  is  another  bird  loving  the  society  of  man, 
and  partly  dependent  upon  his  labours.  And  yet  he  is 
a  bird  very  particular  as  to  the  choice  of  a  home,  for 
he  will  shun  certain  localities  seemingly  suitable  for  his 
colony,  and  take  up  his  abode  in  others  and  remain  there 
for  centuries,  even  though  man  builds  his  crowded  cities 
around  him.  Wherever  the  old  country  mansion  rears 
its  stately  walls  amongst  the  trees,  there,  too,  we  almost 
invariably  find  a  colony  of  Rooks.  In  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  old  abbey  or  castle,  now  nought  but  a  heap 
of  ivied  ruins  and  souvenirs  of  bygone  ages,  we  often 
see  their  nests  in  masses  on  the  topmost  branches  of  the 
neighbouring  trees  ;  and  these  very  nests,  without  doubt, 
belong  to  the  descendants  of  the  birds  who  cawed  over 
the  towers  and  battlements  when  in  the  height  of  their 
regal  splendour  centuries  ago. 

The  Rook  lives  in  colonies,  and  by  his  social  and 
trustful  disposition  we  are  enabled  to  study  his  habits 


214  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


with  ease.  To  begin  with  their  varied  habits,  we  will 
observe  them  in  the  breeding  season.  The  Rook  un 
doubtedly  pairs  for  life,  and  uses  the  same  nest  year 
after  year,  renewing  it  in  the  old  site  if  blown  out  by 
the  wintry  blasts,  and  repairing  it  by  adding  fresh  lining, 
or,  if  considerably  damaged,  sometimes  building  a  new 
nest  on  the  ruins  of  the  old  one.  The  Rook  is  one  of 
the  first  birds  to  set  about  nesting  duties,  commencing 
operations  long  before  the  vernal  equinox,  and  to  visit  a 
rookery  in  the  building  time  is  a  real  pleasure  to  lovers 
of  the  feathered  tribes.  There  we  see  them  perched  on 
the  topmost  branches  of  the  trees,  seated  in  their  nests, 
or  winging  their  way  through  the  trackless  air.  What 
an  animated  scene !  Rooks  cawing  in  all  directions ; 
Rooks -busily  engaged  on  their  nests,  moulding  and 
fashioning  them  for  their  purpose  ;  Rooks  carrying  sticks, 
turf,  and  other  materials  ;  Rooks  in  yonder  fallow,  obtain- 
ing mud  to  cement  the  sticks  ;  and  Rooks  feeding  on 
the  neighbouring  grass  fields.  In  fact,  Rooks  everywhere, 
and  all  busily  employed,  their  pleasing  caws  deafening 
the  air  around.  Now  one  encroaches  on  the  other's 
property,  and  then  those  combats  occur  which  many 
persons  attribute  to  the  possession  of  the  old  nests- 
combats  often  of  such  a  severe  nature  as  to  leave  one  of 
the  birds  bleeding  and  dying  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and 
throwing  the  entire  community  into  a  fever  of  excitement 
and  disorder.  When  the  Rooks  break  off  twigs  from 
the  nesting  trees  they  invariably  fly  clear  of  the  tree  and 
gain  their  nest  by  an  uninterrupted  course,  probably 
because  taking  the  twig  through  the  tangled  branches 
would  prove  extremely  difficult  and  troublesome.  We 
also  notice  that  when  the  nest  is  being  built  one  of  the 
birds  remains  at  home  while  the  other  seeks  materials  ; 
but  once  the  nest  is  completed  this  is  never  done,  and  it 


THE  ROOK.  215 

remains  safe,  even  though  its  owners  be  far  away. 
Before  the  eggs  are  laid  the  Rooks  never  remain  on  the 
trees  all  night,  that  is  in  the  smaller  rookeries,  for  the 
birds  join  the  larger  colonies  and  roost  with  them 
nightly ;  and  they  but  seldom  work  except  in  the 
morning,  spending  the  remainder  of  the  day  on  the 
pastures.  The  Rook  builds  a  firm  and  compact  nest  of 
sticks,  cemented  with  mud  and  lined  with  the  same. 
Then  this  shell  is  lined  with  turf  torn  from  the  grass  lands, 
moss,  wool,  dry  leaves,  and  feathers.  It  is  far  more 
shallow  than  that  of  the  Carrion  Crow,  but  otherwise 
closely  resembles  it,  and  so  firmly  is  it  built  in  its 
elevated  crotch,  that  you  may  sit  in  it  with  perfect  safety. 
Numbers  of  the  nests  are  built  together  in  large  masses, 
and  they  are  always  placed  in  the  topmost  branches. 
Most  trees  are  built  in,  but  probably  the  oak,  elm,  and 
beech  are  most  frequently  used.  At  the  old  manorial 
dwelling  known  as  Beauchief 'Hall,  a  short  distance 
away  from  the  ancient  abbey,  the  Rooks  have  in  some 
instances  built  their  nests  in  some  tall  holly  bushes, 
many  of  them  being  tittle  over  eight  feet  from  the 
ground.  These  strange  sites  are  not  chosen  through 
necessity,  for  numbers  of  stately  trees  throw  up  their 
graceful  branches  close  at  hand.  The  eggs  of  the  Rook 
are  subject  to  much  variety  both  in  form  and  colour. 
Some  are  elongated,  others  almost  round  ;  while  the 
ground  colour  on  many  is  green,  on  others  it  is  nearly 
white,  spotted  and  blotched  with  greenish-brown  of 
various  shades.  On  many  specimens  we  find  but  little 
colouring  matter,  while  in  others  it  is  so  thickly  diffused 
as  to  entirely  hide  the  ground  colour.  In  numbers,  too, 
they  vary  considerably,  for  sometimes  you  will  find  but 
three,  and  at  others  four  and  five  :  the  latter  number  I  do 
not  think  they  often  exceed.  If  you  remove  the  eggs 


216  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 


of  the  Rook  others  will  be  laid,  though  but  in  small 
numbers,  and  I  have  known  them  sit  on  a  single  egg. 
What  is  also  peculiar,  is  that  we  sometimes  see  eggs  and 
young  birds  in  the  nest  together,  the  eggs  being  often 
sat  upon  as  soon  as  laid. 

How  assiduously  the  Rook  feeds  ks  sitting  mate ! 
With  peculiar  cries  and  trembling  wings  it  receives  the 
supply  of  food  by  inserting  its  own  bill  in  that  of  its 
partner,  and  taking  the  insects,  grubs,  and  worms,  that 
in  a  mass  lie  under  its  tongue.  Notice  yonder  Rook ; 
fresh  from  the  grass  land  is  he.  His  mate  sees  him 
approaching  from  afar  ;  she  hops  off  her  charge,  and 
with  peculiar  tremulous  cries  and  fluttering  wings  awaits 
his  approach.  He  feeds  her,  and  after  some  few  marks 
of  affection  have  passed  between  them,  she  cleans  her 
bill  on  a  neighbouring  bough,  and  hops  silently  on  to  her 
precious  eggs,  while  her  mate  wings  his  way  for  a  fresh 
supply.  It  has  been  stated  that  the  female  bird  alone 
hatches  the  egg,  but  this  is  an  error,  as  I  often  see  the 
birds  change  their  duties  :  nevertheless  the  female  bird  is 
oftenest  upon  them. 

By  the  second  week  in  April,  the  young  are  heard 
uttering  their  feeble  cries,  and  then  the  old  birds  are 
taxed  to  the  utmost  in  supplying  them  with  food. 
Backwards  and  forwards,  to  and  from  the  fields,  we  see 
the  old  Rooks  flying  the  entire  day,  and  keeping  up  their 
labours  long  after  sunset.  For  weeks  this  goes  on,  and 
then  we  notice  the  young  birds  sitting  outside  the  nests 
and  on  the  branches.  I  cannot  find  that  the  young 
return  to  their  abode  after  once  quitting  it,  but  remain 
on  the  trees  until  able  to  fly,  being  fed  there  by  their 
parents,  just  as  frequently  as  when  in-  the  nest.  The 
leaves  are  now  rapidly  expanding,  and  partly  hide  the 
young  from  view,  who  try  their  wings  with  little  flights 


THE  ROOK.  217 

from  tree  to  tree  ;  and  when  their  pinions  will  sustain 
them  in  the  liquid  void,  they  follow  their  parents  to  the 
pastures,  and  are  there  fed  and  tended,  returning  at 
nightfall  to  the  nesting-trees.  Time  passes,  and  they 
become  still  stronger  on  the  wing,  and  often  soar  to  an 
immense  height  over  the  nesting-trees,  as  it  were  enjoy- 
ing to  the  utmost  their  newly  acquired  powers  of  motion 
The  young  Rooks  are  nothing  near  so  wary  as  their 
parents,  and  I  once  witnessed  a  pleasing  sight  in  connec- 
tion with  this  matter.  The  Rooks  were  perched  in 
immense  numbers  in  the  trees,  and  of  course  most  of 
them  took  wing  at  my  approach.  One  young  bird, 
however,  was  almost  in  reach  of  my  hand,  sitting  motion- 
less and  unconcerned,  when  a  mature  bird  flew  swiftly 
past  it,  as  if  to  warn  it  of  its  danger,  and  almost  knock- 
ing it  off  its  perch,  when  it  flew  away  with  the  rest. 

From  what  I  have  observed,  by  the  summer  solstice 
the  Rooks  of  the  smaller  rookeries  quit  the  neighbour- 
hood of  their  nests,  and  join  the  members  of  the  larger 
communities,  and  feed  with  them,  fly  with  them,  and  at 
night  repose  in  the  trees  which  contain  the  nests  of 
their  hosts.  But  probably  in  every  rookery  in  Britain, 
whether  large  or  small,  the  Rooks,  from  the  beginning 
of  September  till  the  following  breeding  season,  visit 
their  nests  daily  or  nearly  so. 

'  Night  brings  home  Crows/  says  the  old  proverb  :  it 
also  brings  home  Rooks,  and  it  is  a  stirring  sight  to  see 
the  denizens  of  a  large  rookery  settle  down  to  rest.  All 
day  they  frequent  the  grass  lands,  turnip  fields,  or  potato 
patches,  either  seeking  their  sustenance,  bathing  them- 
selves in  the  little  pools,  or  basking  in  the  sun's  genial 
rays  on  the  tree  tops.  But  as  the  sun  draws  near  the 
western  horizon  instinct  prompts  the  Rooks  to  seek 
their  roosting  place.  With  a  slow  and  regular  beat  of 


218  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 

wing  the  main  flock  pursues  its  way  through  the  heavens 
to  the  distant  rookery.  The  Babel  of  sounds  is  deafen- 
ing as  they  wheel  round  and  round  previous  to  alighting. 
One  by  one  or  in  little  parties  they  perch  on  the  top- 
most branches,  now  struggling  for  a  post  of  vantage,  or 
taking  short  flights,  uttering  their  hoarse  caws.  In  the 
distance  parties  of  three  or  four  are  winging  their  way 
to  join  the  throng.  The  noise  becomes  louder,  the  some- 
what shrill  cry  of  the  Jackdaw  mingling  with  the  homely 
caw,  caw  of  the  Rook.  The  sun  is  sinking  down  in  a 
sea  of  gold,  and  the  moon,  some  height  in  the  heavens, 
appears  as  a  pale  ball  of  fire.  Cock  Robin,  singing  his 
loudest,  can  scarcely  be  heard  a  few  paces  away,  as  the 
flapping  wings  above  us,  and  the  din  their  owners  are 
making,  drown  his  attempts  to  gain  our  notice.  At 
last  a  lull  occurs,  as  the  Rooks,  perched  on  every  avail- 
able.bough,  turn  their  heads  from  side  to  side,  or  preen 
their  glossy  plumage.  But  it  is  not  to  last,  even  though 
the  sun  has  long  disappeared,  and  night  reigns  in  all  her 
soft  and  magic  beauty.  The  Bats  are  flitting  round  us 
under  the  gloomy  branches  ;  Cock  Robin  has  sought  a 
roosting  place ;  field  mice  are  chirping  under  the 
withered  leaves  ;  and  the  woods  bear  that  damp  earthy 
smell  so  prominent  at  night.  Now  one  old  fellow 
perched  on  a  dead  limb  far  up  yonder  elm  utters  a 
hoarse  croak  ;  another  and  another  answer  ;  now  two 
or  three  together ;  and  speedily  the  din  is  loud,  nay, 
louder  than  before.  Many  change  their  places,  their 
dark  forms  showing  out  against  the  clear  western  sky. 
Others  hop  about  the  boughs,  to  be  pushed  off  by  their 
companions  and  compelled  to  seek  refuge  elsewhere. 
What  a  terrific  din  !  Is  there  going  to  be  no  end  to  it  ? 
Yes,  gentle  reader,  the  Rooks  are  a  noisy  race,  and  all 
their  gatherings  are  attended  with  noisy  converse.  Yet, 


THE  ROOK.  219 


like  human  folk,  they  grow  tired  at  last,  and  their  caws 
are  heard  in  lessening  numbers,  and  finally  silence  reigns 
supreme,  only  broken  by  one  or  two  solitary  caws,  for 
amongst  a  company  so  large  there  are  always  a  few  wake- 
ful ones,  which  would  be  heard  even  though  we  tarried 
under  the  trees  until  the  Rooks  left  them  in  the  gray  light 
of  morning,  for  their  day  on  the  neighbouring  pastures. 

The  food  of  the  Rook  is  varied,  and  there  is  not  a 
field  which  he  does  not  visit  at  some  season  of  the  year. 
We  see  him  on  the  grass  lands,  pulling  up  the  turf,  to 
obtain  the  wire-worms  and  grubs  ;  we  see  him  on  the 
corn  lands  soon  after  the  seed  is  sown,  consuming  the 
seeds  which  have  not  been  covered  up,  or  digging  into 
the  ground  to  prey  upon  the  wire-worms  at  their  roots. 
He  is  seen  on  the  oat  fields  when  that  cereal  is  a  few 
inches  high  ;  but  the  agriculturist  need  not  be  alarmed, 
for  let  him  examine  those  parts  of  the  fields  on  which 
the  Rooks  are  congregated,  and  he  will  find  that  the  birds 
are  seeking  and  greedily  devouring  a  large  brown  grub 
which  is  preying  upon  the  vitals  of  the  young  and  tender 
plants.  He  is  on  the  potato  fields  for  the  same  purpose, 
and  when  hard  pressed  by  hunger  will  sometimes  eat 
them,  as  also  will  he  eat  the  turnips,  boring  into  them 
with  his  strong  beak.  We  see  him  in  the  meadows  too, 
following  the  plough  for  worms,  and  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  manure  heaps.  Rooks  are  also  fond  of  carrion, 
and  may  be  seen  eating  the  refuse  of  the  slaughter-house 
when  thrown  on  the  field  as  manure.  If  a  dead  animal 
be  left  in  the  fields  exposed,  the  Rook  will  visit  it  and 
feed  upon  it,  just  as  ravenously  as  the  Carrion  Crow.  In 
the  autumn  months  when  the  acorns  are  ripe  he  feeds 
upon  them.  We  invariably  see  the  finest  acorns  grow- 
ing at  the  end  of  the  slender  branches,  and  the  Rook,  did 
he  alight  on  these  branches  in  his  efforts  to  obtain  them, 


220  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 


would  fail  to  do  so,  as  the  branches,  being  so  slender, 
would  not  admit  of  sufficient  purchase  being  used  to 
break  them  off.  Yet  he  does  feed  on  these  fine  acorns, 
and  obtains  them  in  the  following  manner.  Flying  up 
to  the  tree,  he  alights  on  these  slender  branches,  and, 
while  swaying  up  and  down,  seizes  the  acorn  firmly,  and 
then  hangs  suspended  to  it,  his  weight  breaking  it  off, 
when  he  flies  to  the  ground  with  his  prize  and  eats  it 
at  leisure.  Like  all  birds  of  the  Crow  tribe,  the  Rook- 
throws  up  the  refuse  of  its  food  in  the  form  of  pellets, 
and  the  ground  under  the  nesting-trees  and  the  branches 
of  the  trees  themselves  are  covered  with  them.  Upon 
examination,  we  find  that  they  are  for  the  most  part 
composed  of  the  husks  of  grain,  the  hard  wing  cases  of 
insects,  and  small  portions  of  gravel  swallowed  for  the 
purpose  of  aiding  digestion. 

The  Rook,  though  seeming  to  pass  slowly  through 
the  air,  is  a  bird  capable  of  rapid  flight,  and  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  he  often  flies  at  from  fifty  to 
sixty  miles  an  hour,  or  even  more.  He  is  a  bird  pos- 
sessing great  control  over  himself  in  the  air.  Some- 
times when  far  up  in  the  heavens  he  will,  by  alternately 
turning  his  back  and  breast  to  you,  alight  on  the  ground 
directly  beneath  him.  This  motion  in  the  country  is 
termed  '  shooting,'  and  the  country  people  will  tell  you 
that  it  foretells  wind.  But  as  far  as  my  own  observations 
go,  this  motion  is  only  used  by  the  bird  when  desirous  of 
alighting  on  ground  directly  beneath  him,  and  the  young 
naturalist  may  rest  assured  that  the  Rook  is  not  affected 
in  the  slightest  degree  by  yEolus,  the  god  said  to  preside 
over  the  winds  of  heaven. 

Though  the  Rook  lives  near  our  dwellings  and  allows 
us  to  examine  him  closely  when  in  the  nesting-trees,  still 
he  is  a  shy  and  wary  bird.  The  country  rustic  will  stoutly 


THE   ROOK.  22T 

maintain  that  the  Rook  can  smell  gunpowder,  simply 
because  the  Rook  has  through  experience  learnt  to  shun 
all  suspicious  objects.  You  may,  by  merely  throwing 
up  a  stick  to  your  shoulder,  as  if  it  were  a  gun,  send  a 
whole  flock  of  Rooks  scurrying  off  with  as  much  alarm  as 
though  you  had  actually  fired  at  them.  Persecuted  so 
closely  by  the  farmer,  the  Rook,  in  self-defence,  becomes 
extremely  cunning,  and  it  is  only  at  very  rare  intervals 
you  can  approach  him  within  gunshot,  unless  in  the 
breeding  season,  or  when  lost  in  a  fog. 

Before  leaving  the  Rook,  I  should  like  to  say  a  few 
words  respecting  the  bare  patch  of  skin  on  his  throat 
and  at  the  base  of  his  beak.  We  are  still  told  that  the 
Rook,  by  continually  digging  in  the  ground,  wears  off 
in  course  of  time  all  the  feathers  on  these  parts.  The 
matter  has  been  so  extensively  discussed  and  investi- 
gated by  the  late  Charles  Waterton,  that  I  think  further 
'remarks  from  me  unnecessary.  But  I  would  just  add 
that  this  bareness  is  natural  to  the  Rook  alone,  and  if 
digging  were  the  cause  of  it,  the  Magpie,  the  Jay,  the 
Blackbird,  and  the  Thrush,  should  all  have  this  scarcity 
of  feathers  on  these  parts.  Further,  the  Rook  never 
bnries  his  beak  in  the  ground  to  such  a  depth  as  to  rub 
the  feathers  off  the  throat,  and  during  the  intervals  of 
his  digging,  which  for  the  most  part  takes  place  in 
seed  time,  the  feathers  have  ample  time  to  grow  again, 
which  they  never  do  ;  for  as  soon  as  the  birds  have 
completed  their  first  autumnal  moult  these  parts  become 
bare,  ever  after  to  remain  so. 


222  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


THE  MAGPIE. 

OF  all  birds  found  in  Great  Britain,  but  few  excel  the 
Magpie  in  the  richness  of  their  feathered  garb.  The 
metallic  glow  which  pervades  much  of  its  plumage,  and 
the  caudal  feathers  glowing  as  they  do  in  green,  purple, 
bronze,  and  gold,  cause  the  bird  to  be  no  mean  rival  of 
many  of  the  finest  feathered  gems  that  frequent  the 
blazing  latitudes  of  the  south. 

We  find  the  Magpie  plentifully  distributed  in  the 
woods  and  coppices  all  the  year  round.  We  also  see  him 
in  the  pastures,  sometimes  perched  on  the  backs  of  the 
feeding  cattle,  who  take  not  the  slightest  notice  of  his 
presence,  or  searching  for  food  on  the  ground  around 
him,  occasionally  jerking  his  tail  with  a  graceful  sylph- 
like  motion.  The  sight  of  a  Magpie  always  gives  me 
pleasure.  There  is  something  so  graceful  and  buoyant 
about  his  flight,  notwithstanding  his  comparatively  short 
wings.  Then,  too,  his  colouring  is  so  beautifully  varied, 
that  when  the  bird  is  in  motion,  and  you  happen  to  be 
stationed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  see  the  sun  shining  on 
his  refulgent  caudal  plumage,  together  with  part  of  the 
'wings,  and  the  black  and  white  portions  contrasting 
richly,  the  latter  glistening  in  the  sunlight,  the  effect  is 
most  beautiful.  His  harsh  notes  are  also  in  harmony 
with  the  verdant  woods  or  barren  moors,  for  on  both 
these  situations  we  see  the  wary  Magpie. 

The  Magpie  is  very  probably  a  life-paired  species, 


MAGPIE. 


THE  MAGPIE.  223 


like  its  congeners  the  Rook  and  Jackdaw.  He  is  a  very 
early  breeder,  his  large  conspicuous  nest  being  found  long 
before  the  leaves  are  on  the  trees.  The  habits  of  birds 
are  curious  and  puzzling  in  the  extreme.  How  can  we, 
for  instance,  account  for  the  singular  trustfulness  of 
some  birds  at  one  season,  while  at  another  they  are  shy 
and  the  acme  of  wariness  ?  The  Magpie  shuns  with 
care  man's  habitation  at  all  times  save  in  the  nesting 
season.  That  time  arrived,  however,  and  we  see  them 
patching  up  their  nest  in  the  old  thorn  tree,  or  nest-build- 
ing in  the  fir's  gloomy  branches,  a  stone's  throw  from  their 
threshold,  without  showing  any  reserve  or  fear.  We  find 
the  Magpie's  nest  in  the  lofty  oak,  the  swamp-loving  alder, 
or  the  graceful  birch,  and  even  in  the  lowly  hawthorn  and 
holly,  or  mayhap  firmly  wedged  in  a  hedgerow.  The 
site  chosen,  which  is  usually  a  crotch  in  the  topmost 
branches,  the  birds  commence  operations.  First  comes 
a  foundation  of  sticks  cemented  with  earth,  which  the 
birds  line  with  a  thick  coating  of  mud  or  clay ;  then 
more  sticks  are  used,  until  the  nest  proper  is  covered 
with  a  network  of  sticks  in  the  shape  of  a  dome,  but  not 
sufficiently  dense  to  shield  the  eggs  or  young  from 
view.  The  structure  is  then  often  left  for  a  day  or  so, 
when  the  birds  line  the  clay-formed  cavity  with  a  thick 
and  elastic  bed  of  fine  fibrous  roots :  no  other  lining 
material  is  used. 

There  is  a  pleasing  legend  in  connection  with  the 
nest-building  of  the  Magpie.  The  bird,  so  runs  the  tale, 
having  engaged  to  enlighten  her  congeners  in  the 
important  art  of  nest-building,  was  so  indignant  at  the 
continual  interruptions  of  her  audience,  who  endeavoured 
to  appear  as  wise  as  herself,  that  she  left  them,  when  the 
nest  was  but  half  completed,  to  finish  the  task  them- 
selves, having  failed  to  instruct,  them  in  the  mysteries  of 


224  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 


roof-building.  So  it  comes  that  the  Magpie  alone  covers 
her  nest  with  a  roof  of  sticks.  Even  the  learned  of  our 
own  time  would  fain  have  us  believe  that  the  roof  of  the 
Magpie's  nest  is  for  the  purpose  of  concealing  its  eggs  or 
young,  or  preventing  the  visits  of  predaceous  birds  and 
animals.  But  the  grave  theorists  forget  that  all  birds 
can  find  an  entrance  at  the  same  point  of  ingress  as 
the  parent  birds  themselves.  Are  not  also  the  young 
brood  of  the  Carrion  Crow  in  their  bare  and  elevated 
cradle  much  more  exposed  to  the  same  danger  ? 

The  Magpie  sometimes  returns  for  years  to  its  old 
abode,  if  not  molested.  In  other  cases  where  the  nest 
is  abandoned  the  old  tenement  proves  a  fitting  site  for 
the  nursery  of  the  Kestrel  or  Windhover.  In  some  few 
instances  I  have  known  Magpies  return  to  the  old  nest, 
even  though  the  eggs  were  removed  the  previous 
season. 

The  eggs  of  the  Magpie,  for  a  predaceous  bird,  are 
numerous,  and  herein  probably  lies  the  cause  of  the  bird's 
abundance,  in  spite  of  a  sad  and  unwarranted  persecution. 
I  have  found  nests  containing  the  unusual  number  of  nine 
eggs,  seven  and  eight  are  a  frequent  number,  but  perhaps 
six  are  most  frequently  found.  The  female  bird  sits  very 
closely  on  her  charge,  notably  when  her  eggs  are  ap- 
proaching maturity,  and  she  will  not  unfrequently  re- 
main brooding  over  them  until  you  reach  her  nest.  The 
eggs  are  varied  in  their  markings,  and  very  small  for  the 
size  of  the  bird.  Indeed,  in  viewing  some  nests  contain- 
ing eggs,  you  are  almost  inclined  to  think  that  a  Black- 
bird had  been  and  laid  there  too.  They  are  of  a  light 
bluish-green  in  ground  colour,  with  greenish-brown 
markings  equally  distributed  over  the  entire  surface  of 
the  egg.  Some  specimens  are  almost  white,  with  a  few 
pale  olive-green  markings  at  the  larger  end  ;  while  others 


THE  MAGPIE.  225 


are  green  in  ground  colour,  boldly  marked  with  deep 
brown  and  a  few  faint  purplish  blotches.  In  shape  some 
specimens  are  almost  round,  others  considerably  elon- 
gated, while  many  are  strictly  oval.  He  who  climbs  to 
the  nest  of  the  Magpie  will  find,  in  spite  of  what  he  reads 
or  is  told  to  the  contrary,  the  eggs  lying  bare  and  un- 
covered on  their  rooty  lining,  which  is,  by  the  way,  per- 
fectly smooth.  The  female  bird,  I  believe,  as  a  rule,, 
performs  the  tedious  task  of  incubation,  and  her  mate  at- 
tends her  with  loving  care,  supplying  her  with  a  plentiful 
stock  of  food. 

If  you  approach  the  nest  of  the  Magpie  when  the 
young  are  hatched,  the  old  birds  will  fly  round  the  tree 
which  contains  their  home,  uttering  notes  fraught  with 
anguish  for  the  safety  of  their  helpless  little  ones.  You 
will  find  the  female  bird,  impelled  no  doubt  by  the  courage 
maternal  love  inspires,  approach  you  much  nearer  than 
her  mate,  who  contents  himself  by  watching  your  actions 
at  a  safer  distance.  Before  the  young  are  able  to  fly  the 
nest  is  enshrouded  in  a  canopy  of  foliage,  and  May  is 
well  advanced  before  we  see  them  in  company  with  their 
parents,  searching  the  pastures  for  sustenance. 

The  note  of  the  Magpie  is  a  harsh  chatter,  and  un- 
like that  of  the  Jay,  which  is  a  discordant  scream.  Most 
birds  at  nightfall  are  very  vociferous,  and  the  Magpie  is 
no  exception.  Thus  we  hear  them  making  the  woods 
resound  with  their  dissonant  cries  when  the  shadows  of 
night  are  falling  and  the  birds  are  about  to  settle  down 
to  rest.  Many  a  time  I  have  been  startled  by  their 
noisy  chattering  cry  when  I  have  unwittingly  disturbed 
them  in  their  roosting  places  deep  in  the  forest's  silent 
recesses,  or  in  the  clumps  of  evergreens  standing  boldly 
out  in  cheerful  relief  against  the  interminable  moors 
around. 

Q 


226  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


The  food  of  the  Magpie  is  varied  :  like  all  the  Ciow 
family,  they  will  eat  carrion,  and  attack  the  smaller 
quadrupeds  when  young  or  sickly.  The  Raven  will 
attack  the  newly  born  or  weakly  lambs.  The  Magpie 
will  devour  animals  which  his  smaller  size  and  strength 
allow  him  to  master.  Insects,  various  kinds  of  fruit, 
notably  the  acorn,  and  the  eggs  of  birds,  all  help  to  sus- 
tain the  Magpie  :  nothing  comes  amiss  to  him.  But  with 
all  his  gorgeous  plumage,  active  motions,  usefulness,  and 
trustfulness  in  man,  the  Magpie  has  but  few  friends. 
Gamekeepers  and  preservers  know  his  weakness  for  the 
eggs  of  game,  and  persecute  him  accordingly,  and  his 
shining  plumes  are  by  far  the  commonest  seen  adorning 
the  tree  trunks  which  constitute  the  keeper's  '  museum.' 
When  the  Magpie  discovers  a  Pheasant's  or  Partridge's 
nest  containing  eggs,  he  thrusts  his  strong  beak  into  the 
shell  and  carries  them  off  one  by  one  to  some  quiet  nook, 
where  he  can  dispose  of  them  in  peace.  But  after  all 
the  Magpie's  plunders  are  trivial,  and  when  we  bear  in 
mind  what  an  infinite  amount  of  good  these  feathered 
scavengers  perform,  we  are  compelled  to  admit  that  their 
services  could  ill  be  spared. 

For  my  part  I  would  much  rather  see  the  Magpie 
flying  gracefully  over  the  woods  and  meadows,  and  find 
pleasure  in  his  varied  habits  and  gorgeous  plumage, 
than  sacrifice  his  life  on  the  rather  obscure  charge  of  egg 
stealing,  especially  when  I  know  that  after  all  he  is  but 
following  the  course  laid  down  for  him  by  the  designing 
hand  of  Nature,  and  that  at  most  his  inroads  are  but 
small,  for  Dame  Nature  has  provided  all  her  feathered 
subjects  with  abundant  means  of  safety  for  their  eggs 
and  young. 


THE  JAY. 

THE  Jay  is  one  of  the  handsomest  of  our  native  birds, 
and  although  of  somewhat  local  distribution,  still  in  the 
deepest  woods  and  coppices  he  is  far  from  uncommon. 
There  are  few  birds  more  shy  and  timid  than  the  Jay, 
and  the  observer  has  often  to  content  himself  by  a 
hurried  glance  as  the  bird  flies  rapidly  amongst  the 
thickest  underwood,  his  beautifully  blended  plumage 
contrasting  richly  with  the  surrounding  vegetation. 

The  Jay  delights  to  frequent  woods  plentifully 
stocked  with  evergreens,  and  in  the  holly's  verdant 
branches  we  often  find  his  nest.  He  is  also  found  in 
shrubberies  of  sufficient  extent  to  afford  him  the  requisite 
amount  of  shelter,  choosing  those  where  the  underwood 
is  unusually  dense.  As  I  see  the  birds  invariably  fly  in 
pairs  at  all  times  of  the  year,  I  am  led  to  believe  that 
the  Jay,  like  birds  of  the  Crow  tribe  in  general,  pairs  for 
life.  The  note  of  the  Jay  is  a  peculiarly  harsh  and  dis- 
cordant .one,  even  more  so  than  that  of  the  Magpie, 


228  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 

The  Magpie's  notes  are  given  forth  in  numbers  at  a  time, 
something  similar  to  a  harsh  and  discordant  chatter, 
while  that  of  the  Jay  is  one  loud  and  dissonant  scream. 

A  pleasing  sight  it  is  to  see  a  troop  of  rollicking  Jays 
—  the  young  fed  and  tended,  by  the  way,  for  a  considerable 
time  after  leaving  the  nest — and  their  parents,  late  in  the 
summer.  But  though  young,  they  are  the  very  essence 
of  wariness,  and  it  is  only  now  and  then  that  we  catch  a 
glimpse  of  them  through  the  thick  masses  of  foliage,  our 
eyes  being  drawn  in  the  direction  by  the  harsh  scream  as 
if  of  defiance  and  mockery  with  which  they  scurry  off. 
And  then  how  their  beautiful  plumage  shines  in  the  bright 
summer  sunlight !  A  handsome  bird  is  the  Jay,  and 
one  whose  presence  goes  far  to  enliven  and  heighten 
the  beauty  of  our  English  woods.  Should  the  reader 
ever  have  the  good  fortune  to  so  come  upon  a  troop  of 
Jays,  he  will  probably  notice  that  the  birds,  instead  of 
darting  off  in  all  directions,  like  many  birds  would  cer- 
tainly do  under  similar  circumstances,  invariably  fly 
before  him  in  a  straight  line.  He  may  thus  follow  them 
the  whole  length  of  their  cover,  and  it  is  only  when  thus 
absolutely  compelled,  they  turn  again  to  find  seclusion. 
In  July  the  birds  are  moulting,  and  then  they  appear 
but  as  a  fragment  of  their  former  beauty  ;  but  in  a  few 
short  weeks  Nature  has  again  supplied  them  with  a  new 
garment,  and  they  again  appear  in  all  the  splendour 
of  their  rich  and  varied  plumage.  The  flight  of  the 
Jay  is  a  peculiarly  drooping  one,  performed  with  rapid 
motions  of  the  pinions.  Sometimes  we  see  these  birds 
coursing  through  the  air  at  a  very  high  elevation,  and 
then,  suddenly  closing  the  wings,  shoot  downward  with 
the  rapidity  of  an  arrow  into  the  desired  cover.  Jays 
become  very  noisy  at  nightfall.  Let  the  observer  repair 
to  their  haunts  at  eventide,  and  their  notes,  if  he  be  not 


THE  JAY.  229 


thoroughly  conversant  with  their  habits,  will  certainly 
alarm  him.  Few  things  sound  more  weird  and  un- 
earthly than  their  dissonant  cry,  especially  when  given 
forth  in  the  dusk  of  evening  in  the  deep  and  silent  woods. 
Numbers  are  heard  calling  together,  and  this,  with  the 
occasional  cry  of  the  Wood  Owl  or  the  wail  of  the 
Nightjar,  forms  a  concert  which  the  country  people  are 
apt  to  listen  to  with  superstitious  awe. 

We  are  yet .  in  much  perplexity  as  to  the  time  of 
nidification  of  various  birds.  Thus  the  Magpie  or 
Rook  will  commence  nesting  duties  long  before  the 
leaves  are  on  the  trees,  while  the  Jay,  so  closely  related 
to  them,  waits  until  the  flowery  month  of  May  arrives 
before  a  twig  is  laid  in  furtherance  of  its  nest,  Difficul- 
ties, too,  arise  in  the  nesting  site  ;  for  who  can  tell  us 
why  the  Jay  repairs  to  a  lowly  bush  while  the  Rooks 
invariably  choose  the  topmost  branches  of  tall  trees  for 
their  purpose  ?  Who  can  inform  us  why  the  Jackdaw 
rears  its  young  in  holes  in  walls,  rocks,  or  trees,  while 
the  young  of  the  Carrion  Crow  are  exposed  to  the 
biting  winds  of  heaven  in  an  open  nest  far  up  the  oak's 
sturdy  branches?  Depend  upon  it  some  end  is  served, 
but  Nature  still  holds  the  secret  in  her  keeping.  In 
May,  therefore,  the  Jay  selects  a  site  for  its  nest.  We 
must  never  search  for  his  abode  far  up  the  trees,  for  the 
Jay  repairs  to  shrubs  for  its  purpose.  Iri  hollies,  yews, 
young  fir  trees,  or  whitethorns,  we  often  find  it.  A 
favourite  place  is  where  the  creeping,  clustering  wood- 
bine grows  in  a  tangled  mass  over  some  friendly  shrub, 
but  wherever  we  notice  it  it  is  well  made.  Sticks,  not  so 
coarse,  however,  as  those  used  by  the  Magpie,  cemented 
and  lined  with  mud  and  fibrous  roots,  are  the  materials 
employed.  Let  the  young  naturalist  picture  to  him- 
self a  Magpie's  nest  without  the  roof  of  sticks  and 
slightly  smaller,  and  he  has  a  tolerably  good  idea  of  the 


230  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

4- 

cradle  in  which  the  Jay  lays  her  eggs  and  rears  her 
young.  Few  of  our  British  eggs  are  so  unassuming  in 
their  colouring  matter  as  those  of  the  Jay.  They  are 
rather  smaller  than  a  Magpie's  egg,  and  of  a  peculiar 
greenish-drab,  with  perhaps  a  few  streaks  of  dark  brown 
on  the  larger  end,  and  four  or  five  in  number. 

The  food  of  the  Jay  is  varied  according  to  the  season 
of  the  year.  Thus  in  spring  he  feasts  on  birds'  eggs, 
carrying  them  off  on  his  stout  bill,  and  insects  innumer- 
able. He  is  also  partial  to  a  young  Pheasant  or  Partridge, 
and  he  is  often  seen  chasing  the  smaller  birds  through 
the  trees  like  a  Hawk.  As  the  fruit  season  arrives  he 
loses  much  of  his  occasional  wariness,  for  be  it  known 
the  Jay  is  passionately  fond  of  peas,  cherries,  and  other 
fruits,  and  to  obtain  them  he  advances  boldly  into  the 
garden.  Perhaps  he  comes  in  this  manner  for  his  share 
of  the  good  things  in  recompense  for  the  infinite  number 
of  insects  he  has  devoured  a  few  months  previously. 
But  the  gardener  does  not  see  things  in  this  light,  and 
never  fails  to  take  his  life  at  every  available  opportunity. 
In  autumn  the  Jay  leaves  the  gardens  and  repairs  to  the 
oak  trees,  for  the  purpose  of  feeding  on  the  acorns!  He 
is  now  very  often  seen  on  the  ground,  and  we  now  and 
then  see  him  burying  an  acorn,  but  whether  they  return 
to  these  buried  stores  I  could  never  ascertain.  But  the 
acorns  fail  at  last,  and  the  winter  draws  nigh,  and  the  Jay 
has  to  subsist  on  whatever  he  can  find.  Carrion  never 
comes  amiss  to  him,  and  we  see  him  on  the  pastures, 
feeding,  like  Rooks,  on  worms  and  other  animal  sub- 
stances. You  never  see  Jays  in  any  numbers  together, 
like  Rooks,  Jackdaws,  or  Starlings.  In  the  winter 
little  parties  may  be  seen  of  perhaps  five  or  six,  but  these 
are  without  doubt  the  young  and  their  parents  of  the 
previous  season,  and  we  may  pretty  well  rest  assured 
that  the  Jay  is  not  a  gregarious  species. 


GREAT    SI'OTTED    WOODPECKER. 


THE    WOODPECKER  AND    CREEPER. 

FAR  down  in  the  solitudes  of  the  deepest  woods, 
where  the  timid  squirrels  leap  from  tree  to  tree  in  frolic- 
some play,  where  the  gorgeous  Pheasant  and  the  crafty 
Carrion  Crow  find  a  home  together,  where  the  mighty 
forest  trees  hold  up  their  decaying  and  storm- riven 
branches  in  silent  grandeur — there  too  the  Woodpecker 
lives,  and  draws  his  sustenance  from  their  hoary  timbers. 
A  bird  the  shyest  of  the  shy,  we  seldom  get  a  glimpse  of 
him,  for  he  takes  good  care  to  search  the  trunk  and 
branches  on  the  opposite  side  to  which  we  are  standing. 
Sometimes,  however,  fortune  favours  us,  and  we  are  able 
to  steal  a  march  on  him  and  watch  his  actions.  Rather 
a  clumsy  looking  bird  we  are  apt  to  think,  but  let  us 
observe  him  closely,  and  see  how  well  Nature  has 
provided  him  for  his  ways  of  life.  With  his  strong  legs 
and  claws,  by  the  way,  two  pointing  before  and  two 
behind,  one  of  the  latter  reversible,  he  is  enabled  to 


232  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


grasp  the  bark  and  climb  with  ease.  Then,  too,  his  tail 
is  of  some  importance  ;  for  notice  how  he  presses  it  close 
to  the  bark  to  gain  support  while  he  hammers  away  in 
search  of  the  insects  and  grubs.  How  nimbly  he  courses 
hither  and  thither,  sometimes  in  a  spiral  direction,  at 
others  straight  and  unwavering.  Now  he  turns,  and  with 
head  pointing  to  the  ground  begins  his  downward  search, 
for  he  is  just  as  much  at  home  in  one  attitude  as  the 
other.  Then  we  see  him  at  the  root  of  the  tree ;  now 
with  sidelong  motions  he  courses  round  the  trunk  ;  and 
the  next  we  see  of  him  is  on  the  summit,  where,  his  labours 
done,  he  flits  off  in  drooping  flight  to  another  tree  and 
commences  his  search  anew,  invariably  beginning  at  the 
bottom  and  working  upwards,  and  long  after  he  has  passed 
from  view  we  hear  his  tap,  tap,  tap,  as  he  bores  into  the 
decaying  wood  for  his  prey,  or  hear  his  cheery  notes  as 
he  passes  still  further  into  the  wooded  solitudes.  And 
then  how  beautifully  his  rich  and  varied  black,  red,  and 
white  plumage  contrasts  with  the  sober  tints  of  the  bark, 
for  it  is  of  the  greater  Spotted  Woodpecker  we  are  at 
present  interested.  I  would  here  say  that  this  bird  repre- 
sents his  family  in  the  northern  parts  of  our  island,  while 
the  Green  Woodpecker,  a  much  larger  bird,  which 
frequents  the  southern  woods,  is  also  seen  at  times  in  the 
north,  but  so  seldom  as  to  make  his  appearance  of  but 
accidental  occurrence. 

The  Woodpecker  is  wrongfujly  accused  of  boring 
into  the  sound  timber,  and,  by  letting  in  the  water, 
hastening  its  decay.  The  gamekeeper  never  fails  to 
take  his  life  at  every  opportunity,  '  to  save  master's 
timber,'  he  would  tell  you,  if  you  spoke  to  him  on  the 
subject ;  besides,  that  strong  beak  is  suspiciously  capable 
of  breaking  the  Pheasant's  eggs.  Alas  !  poor  harmless, 
unoffending  Woodpecker,  I  fear  that  by  thy  visits  to  the 


THE    WOODPECKER  AND   CREEPER.  2.33 

trees  thou  art  set  down  as  the  cause  of  their  premature- 
decay.  Full  well  I  know  thy  beak,  strong  as  it  is,  is 
totally  incapable  of  boring  into  the  sound  timber — full 
well  do  I  know  that,  even  if  thou  wert  guilty  of  such 
offence,  nothing  would  reward  thy  labours,  for  thy  prey 
does  not  lurk  under  the  bark  of  a  healthy  tree.  Insects 
innumerable  bore  through  its  bark  and  hasten  its  doom, 
and  it  is  thy  duty  in  Nature's  economy  to  check  them 
in  their  disastrous  progress.  Thou  art  also  accused  of 
boring  into  the  sound  timber  for  the  purpose  of  making 
a  cavity  for  thy  eggs  and  young,  yet  to  do  so  would  be 
deviating  from  the  course  Nature  has  intended  thee  to 
fill.  Sincerely  do  I  hope  the  time  is  not  far  distant 
when  the  timber  owner  may  welcome  thy  approaches, 
and  protect  thee  in  his  domain,  as  one  of  his  greatest 
friends,  pointing  out  by  thy  actions  the  state  of  every  tree 
in  his  forests,  and  warning  him,  by  the  unmistakable  signs 
of  thy  visits,  that  his  timber  has  already  passed  its  prime, 
and  is  awaiting  the  woodman's  axe  to  save  it  from  utter 
ruin. 

The  Woodpecker  is  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
a  decidedly  solitary  species,  seldom  more  than  a  pair 
being  seen  together.  True,  we  may  often  see  a  party  of 
them  even  in  the  winter  months  ;  still  they  have  accident- 
ally met  in  their  wanderings  through  the  woods,  and 
will  again  separate,  each  to  seek  its  meal  in  a  contrary 
direction.  In  the  early  summer  months  the  Wood- 
pecker in  company  with  his  mate  repairs  to  his  nesting- 
hole,  for  it  is  not  at  all  improbable  that  these  birds  are 
a  life-paired  species.  The  hole  is  ofttimes  in  a  decayed 
tree,  sometimes  in  a  limb,  at  others  in  the  trunk,  not 
unfrequently  in  the  hole  made  by  the  snapping  off  of  a 
branch.  If  the  Woodpeckers  have  to  make  a  hole 
themselves,  they  set  to  work  in  the  softest  part  of  a 


234  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

decayed  limb  or  trunk,  and  work  at  it  incessantly,  carry, 
ing  the  greater  part  of  the  decayed  wood  chipped  out  in 
the  excavation  to  some  considerable  distance  from  theh 
nesting-site,  until  it  is  of  sufficient  depth  to  answer  their 
purpose.  The  hole  is  not  always  a  straight  one,  indeed 
it  almost  invariably  turns  either  to  the  right  or  left,  and 
is  only  large  enough  to  admit  the  parent  bird.  At  the 
bottom  of  this  passage  the  hole  is  slightly  enlarged. 
No  nesting  materials  are  required — the  soft  decayed 
wood  at  the  bottom  of  the  hole  answers  every  purpose. 
Here  the  Woodpecker  lays  her  eggs,  four,  five,  or  even 
six  in  number,  not  quite  so  large  as  a  Thrush's,  and  of  a 
delicate  pinky  hue  beautifully  granulated,  and  appearing 
in  the  hollow  cavity  like  pearls  of  the  finest  lustre.  But 
when  the  contents  are  removed  the  pink  hue  vanishes, 
and  the  egg  remains  a  pure  and  spotless  white,  and 
smooth  and  shining  as  ivory. 

The  food  of  the  Woodpecker  consists  of  insects,  and 
when  feeding  their  young  they  collect  a  great  quantity 
in  their  mouth,  under  the  tongue,  just  like  the  Rook. 
The  tongue  of  the  Woodpecker  is  worthy  of  a  few  re- 
marks. His  bill  is  not:  used  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
Flycatcher,  although  both  birds  feed  on  insects.  With 
his  strong  beak  he  uncovers  his  prey  and  removes  the 
bark  under  which  it  is  lurking  :  then  his  tongue,  long  and 
slender,  is  shot  rapidly  out,  and  the  insects  easily 
secured.  Altogether  the  Woodpeckers  are  very  inter- 
esting birds.  Haunting  as  they  do  the  deepest  woods, 
they  are  seldom  seen,  yet  their  life  history  is  none  the 
less  interesting.  But  time  gets  on  apace,  and  we  must 
leave  the  Woodpecker, 

tapping  the  hollow  beech  tree, 

to  his  useful  labours,  and  notice  another  little  active 
woodland  bird  often  seen  in  the  same  localities  as  he. 


THE    WOODPECKER  AND   CREEPER.  235 

This  little  creature  is  called  the  Creeper,  and  well  he 
deserves  the  name,  for  he  is  incessantly  'creeping'  over 
the  timber  in  search  of  his  insect  food.  Besides  seeing 
him  in  the  deepest  woods,  we  ofttimes  notice  him  in  the 
open  places,  notably  the  well-wooded  parks,  and  in 
gardens  and  orchards  he  is  quite  common.  He  is  such 
an  unobtrusive  little  creature,  too,  that  I  fear  he  is  often 
overlooked  or  mistaken  for  the  Wren.  We  see  him  in  his 
garb  of  mottled  brown  commence  operations  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree,  and  travel  upwards  in  short  stages,  now  stopping 
to  pick  out  an  insect  lurking  in  the  crevices  of  the  bark 
with  his  long  slender  bill,  or  returning  head  downwards 
to  pounce  on  an  unwary  fly.  Up  again  he  creeps,  more 
like  a  mouse  than  a  bird,  occasionally  uttering  a  low 
and  plaintive  note  :  right  to  the  top  of  the  tree  he 
mounts,  exploring  every  nook  and  cranny  likely  to  re- 
ward his  search  as  he  goes.  Now  he  creeps  on  the 
under  side  of  a  projecting  limb,  then  again  on  the  top, 
and  although  he  will  explore  an  entire  tree,  still  he  but 
rarely  uses  his  wings  to  convey  him  from  one  part  to 
another.  You  will  also  ,find  that  he,  like  the  Wood- 
pecker, endeavours  to  be  on  the  opposite  side  to  you, 
and  carry  on  his  explorations  unseen.  Yet  every  now 
and  then  curiosity  seems  to  get  the  better  of  him,  and 
you  see  his  light  coloured  breast  and  sharp  little  head 
peep  trustfully  at  you  and  again  vanish  from  sight. 
The  Creeper  does  not  confine  his  labours  to  decayed 
timber,  for  he  explores  every  tree  in  his  way,  sound  and 
decayed  alike,  flitting  from  one  to  the  other  in  drooping 
flight,  uttering  his  twittering  notes  as  he  goes.  Most 
perfectly  is  the  Creeper  adapted  to  his  ways  of  life. 
His  bill  is  admirably  formed  for  obtaining  the  insects 
lurking  amongst  the  crevices  of  the  bark,  and  his  tail, 


236  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

too,  resembles  the  Woodpecker's,  and  supports  him 
greatly  whilst  climbing. 

The  Creeper  breeds  in  early  summer  time,  when  in- 
sect life  is  most  abundant,  and,  like  the  Woodpecker, 
prefers  a  hole  for  the  purpose.  But  instead  of  boring  one 
out  for  himself,  he  finds  one  ready  made,  and,  contrary 
to  the  Woodpecker's  economy,  lines  it  with  dry  grass, 
moss,  and  feathers,  and  makes  a  very  warm  and  com- 
fortable abode.  Here  the  female  bird  lays  as  many  as 
six  eggs,  sometimes  only  four,  white,  spotted  and  speckled 
with  red,  and  about  the  size  of  the  Blue  Tit's,  perhaps 
a  little  larger.  The  parent  Creepers  are  very  cautious 
birds  in  entering  or  retiring  from  their  nest,  and  it  may 
be  their  home  is  but  a  few  yards  from  our  door, 
yet  we  never  discover  it,  at  least  by  the  motions  of  the 
little  owners. 

This  little  creature,  like  the  Woodpecker,  is  not  a 
migratory  bird,  and  we  see  him  in  the  woods  through- 
out the  year.  In  winter  time  one  would  think  that 
a  frail  little  bird  like  him,  whose  food  consists  of 
insects  alone  or  nearly  so,  would  be  hard  pressed  for 
sustenance.  Yet  that  is  not  the  case,  and  he  lives 
sumptuously  the  winter  through.  If  the  Swallow,  how- 
ever, were  to  visit  us  at  this  time,  he  would  undoubt- 
edly perish,  for  the  air  in  winter  is  almost  clear  of  insect 
life  ;  but  the  little  Creeper  can  live  in  ease  when  the  sun 
is  at  Capricorn,  just  because  he  can  climb  so  dexterously, 
for  the  bark  of  trees  abounds  with  insects,  and  more 
particularly  their  eggs  and  larvae,  which  lie  there  torpid 
until  called  into  life  by  the  genial  presence  of  the  vernal 
sun. 


THE    WREN. 

THE  Wren  is  one  of  the  smallest  birds  known  in 
Britain.  But  though  small,  we  can  seldom  pass  him  by 
as  he  creeps  up  the  fences  and  under  the  tangled  vege- 
tation, trilling  forth  music, both  loud  and  sweet,  or  utter- 
ing his  long  string  of  startling  call  notes.  Though  a 
soft-billed  or  insect-feeding  bird,  Nature  has  not  intended 
him  to  be  a  wanderer,  and  he  remains  with  us  throughout 
the  year.  He  knows  not  the  barren  moor  or  common, 
so  dear  to  the  Grouse  and  Plover,  but,  a  lover  of  arboreal 
seclusion,  we  find  him  in  the  densest  woods,  the  shrub- 
beries, the  fields,  the  hedgerows,  the  lanes,  and  sunken 
fences  ;  so  too  about  heaps  of  old  timber  or  brushwood, 
in  gardens,  and  on  the  wooded  banks  of  rivers  and 
streams. 

We  may  justly  call  this  little  creature  a  perennial 
songster,  one  of  the  three  or  four  that  warble  incessantly, 
except  in  the  moulting  season,  summer  and  winter  alike. 


238  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


In  spring  his  love  song  sounds  through  the  forest  glades 
and  hedgerows,  as  the  buds  are  expanding  into  foliage 
and  his  mate  is  seeking  a  site  for  her  cave-like  home. 
And  what  a  series  of  jerks  and  modulations  it  is  com- 
posed of,  and  how  abruptly  he  finishes  his  song,  as  if 
suddenly  alarmed  :  but  this  is  his  peculiar  habit,  and 
common  to  him  alone.  In  summer  we  hear  his  song 
given  forth  for  very  joyfulness  both  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  as  he  wanders  hither  and  thither  in  his  leafy 
bower.  But  a  month  previous  to  the  autumnal  equinox 
a  change  occurs,  and  we  hear  him  sing  with  failing 
energy  and  in  rapidly  decreasing  numbers  :  the  moulting 
season  has  arrived.  In  the  middle'of  September  he  has 
regained  his  lost  notes,  and  as  the  mellow  days  of 
autumn  gild  the  waning  year  his  song  assumes  all  its 
wild  and  varied  beauty.  When  the  noble  trees  are  al- 
most divested  of  their  leafy  covering,  and  the  cold 
western  winds  bring  down  the  frost-bitten  leaves  in 
showers,  he  still  sings  on.  When  you  see  him  fly  you 
sometimes  take  him  for  a  swirling  leaf,  but  are  soon  un- 
deceived as  he  pours  forth  his  sweet  and  varied  notes- 
notes  so  loud  as  to  fill  you  with  wonderment  when  you 
see  from  what  a  little  feathered  casket  they  fall.  In 
winter,  undaunted  by  the  shrieking  blasts  and  ice-covered 
branches,  his  song  is  heard,  clear  as  the  morning  star, 
and  sweet  as  at  the  summer  solstice. 

Two  of  the  Wren's  chief  characteristics  are  its  ever- 
elevated  tail,  borne  more  erect  than  that  of  any  other  bird, 
and  its  never-ceasing  activity,  for  seldom  indeed  is  the 
Wren  seen  sitting  motionless  for  two  minutes  together. 
See  him  hopping  through  the  tangled  fences,  his  course 
marked  by  the  trembling  branches.  Now  he  pauses  for 
a  moment  in  the  open,  to  take  a  peep  at  you.  Notice 
how  he  stretches  uy  to  his  full  height,  with  his  tail  erect, 


THE   WREN.  239 

and  endeavours  to  appear  as  full  of  consequence  as  pos- 
sible. A  brief  moment's  rest  and  he  is  off  again,  in  short 
feeble  flight  for  a  few  yards,  and  then  again  seeks 
shelter  under  the  withered  leaves,  creeping  through 
them  more  like  a  mouse  than  a  bird,  occasionally  burst- 
ing out  into  fits  of  sweetest  song. 

The  Wren  pairs  very  early  in  the  year,  sometimes  a 
union  being  formed  early  in  March,  although  the  nest  is 
seldom  commenced  before  the  latter  end  of  April.  The 
site  chosen  is  varied,  and  not  unfrequently  very  singular 
—under  the  banks  of  streams,  in  bushes  and  brambles, 
far  up  the  stems  of  trees,  amongst  ivy,  and  in  the  sides 
of  haystacks,  or  sometimes  hanging  pendent  from  a 
yew  bough.  I  once  found  a  Wren's  nest  hanging  sus- 
pended from  the  drooping  bough  of  an  elder  tree  over  a 
small  stream,  the  nest  being  swayed  to  and  fro  by 
every  breath  of  air.  The  size  of  the  nest  is  large  when 
compared  with  its  little  owners.  Mimicry  is  the  pro- 
tective power  employed  by  the  Wren  for  the  protection  . 
of  its  nest,  and  note  carefully  how  well  she  practises  it. 
The  nest,  which  appears  as  a  large  ball  of  withered 
leaves,  is  made  in  the  first  place  of  dry  leaves  and  a 
little  moss,  and  round  the  hole  which  admits  the  parent 
bird  is  deftly  woven  a  number  of  grass  stems,  to  strengthen 
and  firmly  bind  the  materials  together.  The  inside  is  in 
the  first  place  lined  with  a  thick  bed  of  moss,  and  finally 
with  a  soft  and  warm  lining  of  feathers,  on  which  the 
eggs  are  laid.  I  may  say  that  the  Wren  will  forsake 
her  nest  when  in  the  course  of  construction  sooner  than 
any  other  bird  I  am  acquainted  with.  Disturb  her  re- 
peatedly when  building,  and  she  leaves  it  apparently 
without  cause.  Insert  your  fingers  in  her  tenement,  and 
she  will  almost  invariably  forsake  it  for  ever.  The  eggs, 
as  a  rule  six  in  number,  though  sometimes  only  four, 


240  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

are  pure  white  when  blown,  faintly  spotted  with  light 
red  spots,  often  forming  a  zone  round  the  larger  end  : 
some  specimens  are  occasionally  met  with  pure  and 
spotless.  When  the  eggs  are  deposited,  however,  the 
Wren  will  seldom  forsake  her  treasure,  and  when  her 
tender  brood  are  relying  on  her  for  sustenance,  you 
never  find  her  forsake  them,  even  though  you  take  the 
young  in  your  hand  and  examine  them,  or  catch  the 
female  bird  on  the  nest  while  ministering  to  their  wants. 
When  the  nest  is  approached  the  male  is  a  noisy  little 
creature,  coming  within  a  few  yards,  and  with  restless 
motions  showing  his  anxiety,  and  his  displeasure  with 
outbursts  of  loud  and  startling  cries.  When  the  young 
no  longer  require  their  parents'  aid,  which  is  soon  after 
they  gain  the  use  of  their  pinions,  they  are  abandoned 
and  left  to  their  own  resources,  and  the  old  birds  sepa- 
rate, to  lead  a  solitary  life  until  the  following  spring 
prompts  them  to  seek  a  mate.  I  have  seen  many 
erroneous  tales  in  respect  to  the  roosting  habits  of  this 
little  songster.  How  they  are  said  to  frequent  holes  or 
crannies,  and  sleep  in  companies  huddled  together  for 
mutual  warmth ;  or  where  they  build  nests  in  the  winter 
for  the  purpose  of  shielding  themselves  from  its  icy 
blasts.  In  the  first  place  the  Wren  is  decidedly  a  non- 
gregarious  species,  and  to  congregate  in  parties  for  the 
purpose  of  repose  would  be  directly  opposed  to  its  life  of 
solitude.  Secondly,  as  long  as  the  ivy,  holly,  yew,  or 
laurel,  decked  in  perennial  verdure,  exist  in  their  haunts, 
assuredly  there  the  Wren  will  seek  repose.  In  hay- 
stacks, too,  is  a  favourite  place  to  find  the  Wren  at  night- 
fall. 

The  Wren  in  the  course  of  its  endless  wanderings 
and  when  in  search  of  food  is  very  often  seen  to  enter 
crevices  in  walls  or  the  holes  in  tree  roots  and  under 


THE    WREN.  241 


*>anks,  and  remain  in  them  some  considerable  time,  often 
o'eappearing  at  holes  far  away  from  the  place  he  first 
entered.  Owing  to  its  feeble  flight,  the  Wren  can 
speedily  be  captured  in  open  places,  and  the  birds  appear 
\o  be  well  aware  of  their  weakness  in  this  respect  by 
teeking  the  densest  cover  when  chased  or  suddenly 
alarmed.  I  have  known  them  when  hard  pressed  take 
refuge  under  leaves  or  creep  into  any  convenient  hole, 
there  to  lie  still  and  motionless  until  the  threatened 
danger  has  passed.  Thus  we  see  that  if  Dame  Nature 
has  not  gifted  the  Wren  with  wings  of  sufficient  strength 
to  carry  him  quickly  out  of  danger,  she  has  dressed  him 
in  a  garb  harmonising  with  the  colours  of  his  favourite 
haunts,  and  taught  him  in  an  effectual  manner  arts  of 
deepest  wile  for  his  self-preservation. 

The  food  of  the  Wren  is  composed  of  insects  of 
various  kinds  and  their  larvae.  Also  we  sometimes  see 
him  about  ants'  nests,  searching  for  their  eggs.  Fruit, 
too,  is  devoured  in  its  season  ;  and  when  winter  makes 
food  scarce  he  will  often  feed  on  the  crumbs  at  your 
door.  But  never  is  the  Wren,  so  closely  connected  in 
youthful  minds  with  the  Robin,  seen  in  motions  so  trust- 
ful as  that  little  bright-eyed  red-breasted  songster. 


THE   KINGFISHER. 

THE  Kingfisher  is  now  a  rare  bird  in  England.  Time 
was  when  this  charming  bird  could  invariably  be  seen 
darting  hither  and  thither  in  most  frequented  places  ; 
but  of  late  years  he  has  been  persecuted  so  greatly, 
partly  by  the  collector,  who  never  fails  to  secure  him  for 
his  cabinet  at  every  opportunity,  and  partly  by  those 
who  have  an  inherent  love  for  slaughtering  every  living 


THE  KINGFISHER.  243 

creature  around  them.  Gamekeepers,  too,  are  up  in  arms 
against  him,  because  of  his  inordinate  love  of  preying  on 
the  finny  tribe. 

Where  the  Kingfisher  now  is  seed  is  in  the  most 
secluded  places ;  where  the  trout  streams  murmur 
through  the  silent  woods,  but  seldom  trod  by  the  foot  of 
man  ;  or  in  the  wooded  gullies  down  which  the  stream 
from  the  mountains  far  above  rushes  and  tumbles  over 
the  huge  rocks,  or  lies  in  pools  smooth  as  the  finest 
mirror.  It  is  here  we  sometimes  see  the  Kingfisher  flit 
past  us  in  his  rapid  flight,  and  it  is  in  these  flights  that 
the  bird's  gorgeous  plumage  shows  to  advantage.  But 
when  he  is  sitting  motionless  as  death  on  a  bough  over- 
hanging the  calm  and  lucid  pool,  with  his  reflection 
showing  in  the  clear  waters,  and  the  noonday  sun 
shining  upon  his  back,  then  he  is  seen  in  all  the 
glorious  splendour  of  his  rich  and  refulgent  plumage — 
plumage  which,  to  place  it  in  its  proper  sphere,  more 
befits  the  spicy  groves  of  the  tropics  than  our  cold  and 
foggy  northern  isle.  Ah  !  our  heavy  step  has  alarmed 
him  ;  he  is  off  like  an  arrow  in  his  rapid  flight,  and  we 
can  trace  him  far  down  the  stream  in  his  straight  and 
unwavering  course,  appearing  as  an  emeraid  streak  ol 
light.  Observe  him  closely,  and  we  find  that  he  seldom 
or  never  flies  over  the  bridges,  always  under  them.  Man 
has  observed  this  peculiar  habit  of  the  Kingfisher,  and 
taken  advantage  of  it,  by  putting  a  silken  net  over  the 
bridge.  The  bird  in  its  rapid  flight  unwittingly  enters  its 
toils  and  becomes  an  easy  prey.  The  Kingfisher  is  com- 
paratively a  silent  bird,  though  he  sometimes  utters  a 
few  harsh  notes  as  he  flies  swift  as  a  meteor  through  the 
wooded  glades.  You  not  unfrequently  flush  the  King- 
fisher from  the  holes  in  the  banks,  and  amongst  the 
brambles  skirting  the  stream.  He  roosts  at  night  in 


244  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

holes,  usually  the  nesting  cavity.  He  will  sometimes 
alight  on  stumps  and  branches  projecting  from  the 
water,  and  sit  quiet  and  motionless,  but  on  your  ap- 
proach he  darts  quickly  away,  often  uttering  a  feeble 
seep  seep  as  he  goes. 

Should  the  reader  chance  to  know  of  a  haunt  of  the 
Kingfisher,  he  may,  by  exercising  the  utmost  caution, 
observe  the  bird  when  obtaining  its  food — a  sight  by  the 
way  of  unequalled  pleasure  and  wonderment.  See  him 
sitting  on  his  favourite  stump,  for  he  chooses  some  point 
of  vantage  to  which  he  daily  repairs  to  secure  his  prey 
and  bask  in  the  sun's  genial  rays,  so  motionless  as  to 
appear  but  a  part  of  the  stump  itself.  But  the  King- 
fisher is  intently  watching  the  troutlets  playing  in  the 
pool  below  him.  At  last  his  chance  arrives,  and  with 
incredible  speed  he  poises  himself  for  an  instant  and  then 
dashes  boldly  into  the  water,  and  before  we  have  time 
for  thought  he  is  under  the  surface.  A  few  brief 
moments  and  he  again  appeajs  in  sight— successful. 
With  the  fish  crosswise  in  his  strong  beak  he  again 
repairs  to  the  stump,  and  then  we  see  how  he  disposes 
of  it.  With  a  jerk  he  deftly  throws  the  fish  into  the  air, 
and  as  it  falls  he  catches  it  head  first,  and  swallows  it 
there  and  then.  This,  I  believe,  is  the  Kingfisher's  only 
method  of  fishing,  and  therefore  he  never  molests  any  fish 
too  large  for  him  to  swallow  whole.  All  the  bones  and 
other  indigestible  parts  of  his  food  are  cast  up  in  pellets. 
The  food  of  the  Kingfisher  is  not  composed  entirely  of 
fish,  for  I  have  taken  the  remains  of  fresh-water  shrimps 
from  their  stomachs,  and  doubtless  other  animals  in- 
habiting the  waters  are  from  time  to  time  devoured. 

About  the  nesting  habits  of  the  Kingfisher  mystery 
has  almost  always  hung.  The  ancients,  for  instance, 
had  a  very  absurd  idea  as  to  its  nesting  habits.  They 


THE  KINGFISHER.  245 

believed  that  the  bird  built  a  floating  nest,  and  wherever 
the  old  bird  and  her  charge  were  drifted  by  the  winds,  as 
they  floated  over  the  briny  deep,  the  sea  remained  calm 
and  lucid.  The  Kingfisher,  therefore,  to  the  ancient 
mariner,  was  a  bird  held  sacred  in  the  extreme.  Even  in 
our  own  day  one  would  think  these  absurd  superstitions 
were  not  altogether  eradicated.  For  instance,  the  nest 
is  said  to  be  made  of  the  fish  bones  ejected  by  the  bird. 
If  the  Kingfisher  builds  a  nest  of  fish  bones,  which  it 
certainly  does  not,  we  may  also  say  with  equal  truth 
that  the  Windhover  Hawk  builds  a  nest  of  cast-up 
pellets  on  which  to  deposit  her  eggs.  Now  the  real 
facts  of  the  case  are  these :  Kingfishers,  as  the  young 
naturalist  is  probably  aware,  nest  in  holes  of  the  banks 
of  the  stream  they  frequent,  and  not  only  do  they  nest 
in  these  places,  but  they  often  repair  to  them  at  other 
times  and  roost  in  them  at  night ;  and  therefore,  as  the 
birds  so  frequent  them,  it  must  follow  that  vast  quantities 
of  rejected  fish  bones  accumulate,  and  on  these  the  eggs 
are  of  necessity  laid.  Therefore  I  am  satisfied  in  my 
own  mind  that  Nature  has  not  taught  or  intended  the 
Kingfisher  to  build  a  nest,  but  that  its  case,  is  analogous 
to  that  of  the  Windhover.  The  one  repairs  to  an  old 
nest  or  hole  or  crevice  for  its  purpose  :  the  other  seeks 
a  hole  in  like  manner,  and  in  both  cases  the  eggs  are 
found  on  the  refuse  of  the  bird's  food.  It  will  therefore 
be  seen  that  naturalists  err  when  they  tell  us  that  the 
Kingfisher  builds  a  nest  of  fish  bones,  and  we  may  rest 
assured  that  no  Kingfisher  has  yet  purposely  constructed 
a  nest  out  of  the  bones  it  ejects. 

The  eggs  of  the  Kingfisher  are  very  beautiful  objects 
before  they  are  blown,  being  of  a  deep  pinkish  hue  ;  but 
after  the  contents  are  removed  the  pink  bloom  vanishes, 
and  the  eggs  assume  a  pure  and  spotless  white,  in  some 


246  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

cases  beautifully  grained.  They  are  not  so  large  as  a 
Thrush's  egg,  and  much  more  rounded,  and  usually  six 
in  number. 

The  Kingfisher  is  found  with  us  throughout  the 
year,  but  numbers  doubtless  perish  when  their  native 
streams  are  frozen.  There  is  perhaps  not  a  bird  in  all 
the  ranis  s  of  the  feathered  gems  of  equatorial  regions,  be 
it  ever  so  fair,  the  Humming  Birds  excepted,  that  can 
boast  a  garb  so  lovely  — an  azure  blue,  green,  and  inter- 
mediate tints — as  adorns  this  little  creature  of  our  own 
northern  land.  Naturalists  assert  that  the  sun  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  brilliant  colours  of  the  birds  and 
insects  of  the  tropics,  but  certainly  the  Kingfisher  is  an 
exception  of  the  highest  kind. 


THE    CUCKOO. 

THE  Cuckoo,  next  to  the  Swallow,  is  perhaps  the 
most  well-known  bird  in  name  our  country  harbours  in 
the  summer  months.  I  say  '  in  name,'  because  but  few 
except  those  learned  in  bird  lore  can  discriminate  the 
Cuckoo  save  from  his  notes  ;  but  let  the  bird  utter  them, 
and  everyone  knows  at  once  it  is  the  Cuckoo.  For  does 
he  not  proclaim  his  presence  by  calling  forth  his  own 
name,  which  is  wafted  in  all  directions  by  the  refreshing 
breezes  of  spring,  and  making  mistake  impossible  ? 
Then,  again,  the  strange  manner  in  which  the  Cuckoo 


248  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

provides  for  the  continuation  of  its  species,  togerhfe*  with 
the  absurd  supposition  of  the  bird  changing  into  a  Hawk 
for  the  winter  months,  also  tend  to  throw  a  hale  of  mys- 
tery round  this  bird  of  spring.  Even  ornithologists  have 
yet  to  learn  much  in  the  life  history  of  the  Cuckoo. 

He  arrives  here  about  the  third  week  in  April,  and 
shortly  after  the  woods  and  coppices,  now  fair  and 
beautiful  with  the  tints  of  rapidly  expanding  buds, 
resound  with  his  joyous  notes.  He  is  found  in  the 
verdant  woods,  in  the  coppice,  and  even  on  the  lonely 
moors  he  flits  from  one  stunted  tree  to  another  and  utters 
his  notes  in  company  with  the  wild  song  of  the  Ring 
Ousel  and  the  harsh  calls  of  the  Grouse  and  Plover. 
Though  his  notes  are  monotonous,  still  no  one  gives 
them  this  appellation.  No  !  this  little  wanderer  is  held 
too  dear  by  us  all  as  the  harbinger  of  spring  for  aught  but 
praise  to  be  bestowed  on  his  mellow  notes.  His  notes, 
though  full  and  soft,  are  powerful,  and  may  on  a  calm 
morning,  before  the  everyday  hum  of  human  toil  begins, 
be  heard  a  mile  away,  over  wood,  field,  and  lake.  Towards 
the  summer  solstice  his  notes  are  on  the  wane,  and  when 
he  gives  them  forth  we  often  hear  him  utter  them  as  if 
labouring  under  great  difficulty,  and  resembling  the 
syllables  cuck-cuck-oo.  I  on  one  occasion  early  in 
smiling  May  heard  a  Cuckoo  calling  treble  notes.  They 
differed  from  his  '  waning  '  notes  by  the  last  syllable 
being  in  the  majority — thus,  cuck-oo-oo,  cuck-oo-oo — and 
sounded  inexpressibly  soft  and  beautiful,  notably  the 
latter  one,  which  resembled  the  soft  and  plaintive  cooing 
of  the  Wood  Dove.  I  at  first  supposed  an  echo  was  the 
cause  of  these  strange  notes,  the  bird  being  then  half  a  mile 
away,  but  I  had  abundant  opportunity  to  satisfy  myself 
that  this  was  not  the  case,  as  he  came  and  alighted  on 
a  noble  oak  a  few  yards  from  me  and  again  gave  them 


THE   CUCKOO.  249 


forth.  The  Cuckoo  utters  his  notes  as  he  flies,  but  only, 
as  a  rule,  as  far  as  I  can  determine,  when  a  few  yards 
from  the  place  on  which  he  intends  alighting.  Besides 
the  above-mentioned  notes  the  Cuckoo  is  often  heard 
uttering  a  chattering  cry,  not  unlike  that  of  the  Kestrel, 
but  more  guttural.  This  cry  is  probably  their  call  or 
alarm  note,  as  the  birds  invariably  utter  it  when  suddenly 
alarmed.  I  have  never  yet  heard  a  female  Cuckoo 
uttering  the  note  '  cuckoo,'  and  I  consider  the  song  is 
confined  to  the  male  alone  ;  for  that  it  is  a  song  is 
evident  by  the  bird  losing  it  in  the  summer  months,  like 
most  other  species.  I  often  hear  Cuckoos  singing  long 
before  sunrise,  and  equally  late  in  the  evening,  even 
when  the  moon  has  commenced  shedding  her  borrowed 
light  over  wood  and  meadow. 

The  Cuckoo,  like  the  god  Amphion,  at  the  sound  of 
whose  lute  the  stones  arranged  themselves  in  such  regu- 
lar order  as  to  compose  the  city  walls  of  Thebes,  seems 
to  have  a  wonderful  influence  over  the  feathered  tribe 
when  giving  forth  his  notes.  I  on  one  occasion  noticed 
a  male  Cuckoo  alight  in  a  tall  oak  tree  and  commence 
giving  forth  his  notes.  He  had  not  been  there  long 
before  several  Starlings  which  had  been  feeding  in  a 
neighbouring  field  flew  into  the  same  tree.  Soon  after 
several  Greenfinches  paid  him  a  visit ;  and  lastly  a  little 
Willow  Warbler  flew  over  the  field  at  some  distance  from 
the  tree  which  contained  the  Cuckoo,  which  commenced 
calling  loudly,  when  the  Willow  Warbler  altered  its  course 
and  flew  back  again  some  distance  into  the  tree.  I 
could  bring  more  instances  of  birds  which  in  my  opinion 
were  attracted  by  his  notes,  but  why,  and  for  what  pur- 
pose, I  am  unable  to  say. 

I  am  not  a  convert  to  the  belief  that  Cuckoos  are 
polygamous.  Many  support  their  belief  by  giving  in- 


250  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

stances  where  they  or  their  friends  have  observed  two 
male  Cuckoos  following  and  chasing  a  female  ;  but  this 
proves  little  or  nothing.  I,  a  few  weeks  before  the  vernal 
equinox,  see  two  male  Stormcocks  fighting  over  and 
chasing  a  female  ;  but  am  I  therefore  to  believe  that 
these  birds  are  polygamous  ?  I  strongly  suspect  that  the 
peculiar  manner  in  which  the  Cuckoo  propagates  its 
species  is  in  some  measure  responsible  for  this  belief 
When  we  reflect  how  prolific  all  polygamous  birds  are,  as 
a  rule,  and  then  note  the  comparative  scarcity  of*  the 
Cuckoo,  it  will  at  once  be  seen  that  polygamy,  if  prac- 
tised in  this  species, 'is  attended  with  results  quite  at 
variance  with  those  usually  attending  it.  Upon  their 
arrival  I  always  see  the  Cuckoo  solitary  ;  and  when 
they  have  spent  a  few  weeks  in  their  summer  home,  I 
either  see  them  in  pairs  or  alone.  At  the  time  of  writing 
this,  two  Cuckoos,  a  male  and  female,  have  frequented 
one  locality  for  the  last  three  weeks.  Thus  I  infer  that 
the  Cuckoo  does  pair,  even  though  it  be  for  a  very  short 
season,  and  that  the  birds  remain  in  company  until  the 
full  complement  of  eggs  is  deposited. 

Reader,  we  will  suppose  polygamy  to  be  their  forte, 
and  a  male  Cuckoo  after  fighting  for  a  female  gains  her 
attentions.  In  due  course  a  fertile  egg  is  deposited,  and 
the  male  departs  to  seek  out  and  win  more  females,  for 
be  it  known  Cuckoos  are  not  at  all  gregarious.  Now  if 
the  female  Cuckoo  cannot  obtain  another  partner,  the 
remaining  number  of  eggs  by  her  deposited  will  prove 
infertile.  But  this  is  not  the  case,  for  we  rarely  find  an 
addled  egg  of  this  species.  Again,  I  for  one  have  never 
seen  Cuckoos  displaying  hostile  motions,  and  if  they  are 
of  so  pugnacious  a  disposition,  we  must  also  bear  in  mind 
that  all  birds  which  pair  annually  are  more  or  less  pug- 
nacious in  the  mating  season.  Further,  in  polygamous 


THE   CUCKOO.  251 


birds,  the  male  invariably  devotes  his  attentions  to 
several  females,  and  remains  in  their  company  until  the 
eggs  are  deposited.  No  such  act  is  observed  in  the 
economy  of  the  Cuckoo,  for  when  the  eggs  are  being 
deposited,  I  challenge  any  person  to  bring  proof  positive 
where  he,  in  proprid  persona* has  observed  any  such 
(Cuckoo)  gathering  as  is  frequently  to  be  seen  in 'the 
haunts  of  the  various  polygamous  birds  in  the  nesting 
season. 

Another  reason  why  I  reject  this  theory  is  because 
polygamous  birds  are,  as  a  rule — a,  suitably  armed  for 
fighting  for  the  females  :  no  such  provision  is  observed 
in  the  male  Cuckoo,  b,  Because  male  polygamous  birds, 
as  a  rule,  exhibit  the  most  gorgeous  colours,  while  the 
females  are  of  dull  and  inconspicuous  ones  :  male  and 
female  Cuckoos  are  but  slightly  different  in  colouring 
matter,  c,  Because  in  polygamous  birds  the  females 
largely  exceed  the  males  in  numbers  :  in  Cuckoos,  as  far 
as  I  have  observed  them,  the  males  and  females  occur  in 
equal  quantities.  I  am  well  aware  that  many  urge  that 
one  intercourse  with  the  male  bird  is  sufficient  to  cause 
all  the  eggs  deposited  by  the  female  to  prove  fertile ; 
but  this,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  is  not  yet  proved,  and  if 
true,  I  most  flatly  deny  to  be  polygamy  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  word.  Therefore,  from  what  I  have  rumi- 
nated over  and  observed  of  the  habits  of  the  Cuckoo,  I 
am  convinced  that  this  species,  as  I  have  before  stated, 
pairs  soon  after  its  arrival,  and  lives  in  pairs  until  the 
eggs  are  deposited,  when  the  ties  which  previously  bound 
them  together  cease  their  mysterious  power,  and  the 
birds  lead  a  wandering  solitary  life  until  the  retiring  sun 
bids  them  seek  their  southern  home. 

Nature  has  not  intended  the  Cuckoo  to  build  a  nest, 
but  influences  it  to  lay  its  eggs  in  the  nests  of  other 


252  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


birds,  and  entrust  its  young  to  the  fostering  care  of  those 
species  best  adapted  to  bring  them  to  maturity.  Thus 
we  see,  midway  between  the  vernal  equinox  and  summer 
solstice,  the  female  bird  prying  about  all  suitable  situa- 
tions in  search  of  nests  in  which  to  deposit  her  eggs. 
Now  coursing  down  the  hedgerows,  prying  into  the  deep 
underwood,  or  flitting  uneasily  from  tree  to  tree,  her 
mate  singing  a  short  distance  away.  We  often,  too,  see 
her  at  this  season  upon  the  ground,  and  I  may  say  that 
from  what  I  have  observed  the  Cuckoo  usually  lays  her 
egg  on  the  ground  and  then  conveys  it  to  the  selected 
nest ;  but  whether  the  bird  conveys  the  egg  in  her  bill 
or  claws  I  am  unable  to  say. 

The  nests  selected  are  numerous,  but  from  my  own 
observation  the  nest  of  the  unassuming  Hedge  Accentor 
is  most  frequently  chosen.  I  have,  however,  known  her 
egg  in  the  small  and  extremely  beautiful  nest  of  the 
lesser  Redpoll  ;  and  the  various  ground  birds,  as  Pipits 
and  Wagtails,  are  ofttimes  selected.  When  her  egg  is 
deposited  irrsuch  small  nests  and  difficult  of  access,  she 
must  of  necessity  convey  them  either  in  her  bill  or  claws, 
for  her  large  size  prevents  her  entering  the  nest  for  her 
purpose.  I  am  surprised  that  so  much  doubt  hangs 
round  the  eggs  of  this  bird,  and  the  theories  put  forth 
by  many  naturalists  on  the  subject  are,  to  say  the  least, 
absurd.  The  egg,  as  is  well  known,  is  very  small  in 
comparison  to  the  bird,  being  no  bigger  than  a  large- 
sized  Skylark's,  and  very  much  the  same  in  general  ap- 
pearance. All  authentic  eggs  which  have  come  before 
my  own  notice  are  very  similar,  both  in  size  and  mark- 
ings ;  and  I  deny  altogether  that  the  Cuckoo  has  the 
power  of  laying  eggs  at  will  of  such  a  colour  as  to  har- 
monise with  those  in  the  selected  nest.  Even  if  such 
were  the  case  no  end  would  be  served,  for  after  numerous 


THE   CUCKOO.  253 


experiments  with  all  kinds  of  birds,  I  find  that  they  will 
tend  with  as  much  care  as  their  own,  eggs  of  widely 
different  species,  and  presenting  size  and  colour,  the 
latter  especially,  far  different  from  their  own.  I  have 
inserted  eggs  as  widely  different  in  colour  as  it  was 
possible  to  obtain  in  nests  of  most  of  the  commoner 
species  of  insessorial  birds,  and  in  every  case  except  one, 
out  of  some  fifty  instances,  my  experiments  proved 
successful,  viz.,  that  birds  will  tend  the  eggs  of  kindred 
species  with  as  much  care  and  attention  as  their  own 
eggs.  I,  for  my  part,  do  not  think  the  eggs  of  the 
Cuckoo  vary  so  greatly  as  is  currently  supposed.  If  a 
nest  is  found  containing  eggs,  and  one  of  the  number 
happens  to  exceed  the  others  in  size,  or  differ  from  them 
in  colouring  matter,  it  is  at  once  set  down  to  be  that  of 
the  Cuckoo.  It  has  been  ingeniously  hinted  that  para- 
sitic birds  like  the  Cuckoo  became  parasites  in  this  wise. 
A  bird  in  imminent  danger  of  delivery,  and  without  a 
nest  prepared,  deposited  her  egg  in  an  alien  nest  rather 
than  on  the  ground,  and  the  convenience  of  this  method 
may  have  struck  her,  arid  induced  her  to  repeat  the 
experiment.  The  birds  reared  would  follow  their 
mothers'  peculiar  trait,  and  in  course  of  time  the  birds 
thus  hatched  would  outnumber  their  congeners  hatched 
in  the  usual  way,  and  thus  the  habit  would  become  fixed. 
But  my  own  observations  lead  me  to  reject  this  fanciful 
theory.  If  a  bird  were  placed  under  the  circumstances 
above  mentioned,  the  egg  would  be  deposited  upon  the 
ground  or  in  the  unfinished  nest ;  for  I  have  known  in- 
stances of  both  cases.  I  consider  this  peculiar  instinct 
in  the  Cuckoo  has  existed  as  long  as  the  bird  itself,  and 
the  cause  of  this  to  us  strange  proceeding  is  as  yet  one 
qf  the  many  secrets  still  in  Nature's  keeping,  while  the 


254  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

size  of  the  egg  in  comparison  to  the  bird  bears  out  my 
belief. 

Mystery  still  hangs  densely  round  much  of  the 
Cuckoo's  life  history,  and  particularly  in  that  part  relating 
to  the  production  of  its  young.  Any  person  in  the 
habit  of  studying  the  economy  of  the  birds  of  the  field  is 
well  aware  that  the  number  of  young  Cuckoos  seen  in 
a  season,  as  compared  with- the  adult  birds,  is  very  dis- 
proportionate, sometimes  not  one  solitary  specimen  being 
seen,  although  the  mature  birds  are  the  commonest 
species  we  meet  ;  but  we  cannot  explain  it.  From  this 
circumstance,  however,  I  am  led  to  believe  that  the 
number  of  eggs  deposited  by  the  Cuckoo  is  far  less  than 
is  currently  supposed.  Then,  again,  we  must  not  give 
credence,  notwithstanding  the  many  instances  brought 
forward  in  favour  thereof,  to  the  seemingly  well-received 
story  of  the  young  Cuckoo  ejecting  its  fellow-nestlings 
at  an  age  when  no  young  bird  in  the  creation  (hatched 
blind)  is  capable  of  such  an  act.  Probably,  gentle 
reader,  many  a  time  thou  hast  paused  in  thy  wander- 
ings to  examine  a  nest  of  newly  hatched  birds, — of  any 
species  whose  young  are  hatched  blind — and  upon 
taking  them  in  thy  hand  and  observing  them  closely 
thou  wilt  at  once  see  that  any  great  exertion  on  their 
part  is  impossible.  And  as  to  their  being  capable  of 
ejecting  one  of  their  fellows,  why,  the  thing  is  impossible. 
Ay,  and  more  so  when  we  reflect  that  the  mother  bird 
sits  on  her  new-born  young  for  a  considerable  time  after 
their  breaking  from  the  shell. 

The  food  of  the  Cuckoo  is  composed  of  insects  and 
caterpillars,  the  young  birds  being  fed  on  this  food  by 
their  foster-parents.  They  are  also  accused  of  de- 
stroying the  eggs  of  birds,  but  certainly  not  those  of 
game,  for  their  beak  is  not  adapted  to  break  the  hard 


THE  CUCKOO.  255 


shells  of  game  birds'  eggs  :  their  inroads,  therefore,  if  at 
all,  are  confined  to  the  eggs  of  the  smaller  birds.     Never- 
theless, the  Cuckoo  has  a  relentless  enemy  in  the  game 
keeper,  who  never  fails  to  strike   him   down   at  every 
opportunity.     He  is  too  much  like  a  Hawk  for  Velve- 
teens ;  besides,  he  has  a  vague  idea  that  every  Cuckoo 
killed  in  the  summer  means  a  Hawk  the  less  in  winter 
The  young  Cuckoos  in  their  first  plumage  differ  vastly 
from  their  parents,  being  very  similar  in  markings  to  the 
female  Kestrel. 

The  flight  of  the  Cuckoo  is  a  buoyant  easy  one, 
straight  and  unwavering,  and  graceful  in  the  extreme. 
When  flying,  adult  Cuckoos  have  a  very  accipitrine 
appearance:  with  their  long  tail  and  wings  and  rapid 
flight,  they  bear  a  strong  resemblance,  to  a  casual  eye, 
to  the  far-famed  Sparrowhawk,  especially  when  the 
beautiful  slate-coloured  upper  parts  glisten  in  the 
sunlight,  and  display  themselves  in  lovely  contrast  to 
the  vernal  greens  of  the  hawthorn,  as  the  bird  glides 
rapidly  up  a  hedgerow  side.  This  resemblance  to  the 
birds  of  prey  is  doubtless  a  protection  to  the  weak  and 
defenceless  Cuckoo  from  these  pirates  of  the  air. 
Cuckoos  are  often  accompanied  by  various  small  birds, 
notably  the  Willow  Warbler  and  Chaffinch  ;  but. for  what 
purpose  I  am  at  a  loss  to  say,  unless  it  be  for  the  pur- 
pose of  mobbing  him,  much  as  the  little  birds  are  wont 
to  do  Crows  and  other  predaceous  birds,  his  hawk-like 
appearance  attracting  them. 

The  Cuckoo  .is  one  of  the  last  birds  to  make  his 
appearance  here  in  the  spring,  and  probably  the  first  to 
leave  us  in  the  early  autumn.  We  miss  his  mellow 
notes  in  hay  harvest,  and  there  is  a  saying  here  that  the 
sight  of  the  haycocks  drives  him  away.  I  am  of  opinion 
the  adult  birds  leave  before  the  young  ones.  Certain  it 


256  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

is  they  do  not  tarry  much  longer  after  the  hay  is  mown, 
and  the  male  but  rarely  sings  after  midsummer.  I  on  one 
occasion  heard  him  singing  the  third  week  in  September. 
The  fact  of  the  bird  remaining  silent,  and  its  hawk-like 
appearance,  causes  it  no  doubt  to  be  overlooked  by  most 
people.  But  he  seldom  sees  the  lovely  tints  of  autumn, 
and  never  hears  the  wintry  storm-wind's  voice,  for,  im- 
pelled by  resistless  impulse,  he  wings  his  way  afar  over 
mountain,  stream,  and  sea,  to  a  land  where  the  northern 
blasts  are  not  felt,  and  where  a  summer  sun  is  shining  in 
a  cloudless  sky. 


THE  SWALLOW. 

IT  is  perhaps  in  the  habits  and  movements  of  birds 
that  we  have  the  most  marked  signs  of  the  changing 
seasons.  Thus,  as  winter  almost  insensibly  passes  into 
spring,  bird  life  is  sure  to  make  us  aware  of  the  change  ; 
for  does  not  the  charming  Blackcap,  fresh  from  a  southern 
haunt,  sit  and  warble  on  the  yet  leafless  branches,  and 
the  Throstle  and  the  Blackbird,  Cock  Robin  and  Jenny 
Wrenr  carol  forth  the  praises  of  the  vernal  year  from 
every  tree  and  hedgerow  ?  Then,  too,  the  ever  welcome 
stranger  Cuckoo's  notes  are  heard  sounding  so  full  and 
clear  from  the  distant  woods,  and  the  Skylark  and  the 
Bunting  seem  overflowing  with  rapture  for  the  change  of 
season.  As  spring  rolls  imperceptibly  into  summer  the 
extreme  vivacity  of  bird  life  is  a  predominant  feature. 
Each  bird  is  busy :  the  fluttering  of  a  thousand  wings 
amongst  the  branches,  and  the  abundance  and  power  of 

S 


258  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


their  owners'  music,  tell  us  that  the  young  are  being 
reared.  Another  change,  and  we  know  the  turning  point 
of  the  year  is  at  hand.  The  music  of  the  feathered  host, 
as  summer  passeth  away  in  favour  of  autumn,  is  visibly 
on  the  decline,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  Cuckoo  and 
other  early  birds  of  passage  tells  us  in  silent  language  of 
the  season  at  hand.  Autumn  is  declining  :  one  by  one 
the  migratory  songsters  leave  us,  and  the  departure  of 
the  Swallows  and  the  appearance  of  the  Redwings 
inform  us  that  ere  long  winter  in  his  hoary  garb  will 
reign  supreme  around  us. 

The  Swallow,  too,  is  a  sure  harbinger  of  the  glorious 
spring,  and  arrives  here  the  third  week  in  fresh  and 
vernal  April,  being  a  little  later  in  its  appearance  than 
the  Martin  or  Sand  Martin.  You  can  instantly  tell  the 
bird  from  the  Swifts  or  Martins  by  its  steel-blue  upper 
plumage  and  the  acutely-forked  tail.  Swallows  are  very 
common  birds,  and  frequent,  as  a  rule,  the  cultivated 
lands  in  the  neighbourhood  of  water,  showing  a  decided 
preference  for  the  habitations  of  man. 

How  gracefully  the  Swallows  fly.  See  them  cours- 
ing over  the  daisy-bespangled  grass  fields  ;  now  they 
skim  just  over  the  blades  of  grass,  and  then  with  a  rapid 
stroke  of  their  long  wings  mount  into  the  air  and  come 
hovering  above  your  head,  displaying  their  rich  white 
and  chestnut  plumage  to  perfection.  Now  they  chase 
each  other  for  very  joyfulness,  uttering  their  sharp 
twittering  notes  ;  then  they  hover  with  expanded  wings 
like  miniature  Kestrels,  or  dart  downwards  with  the 
velocity  of  the  Sparrowhawk  ;  anon  they  flit  rapidly  over 
the  neighbouring  pool,  occasionally  dipping  themselves 
in  its  calm  and  placid  waters,  and  leaving  a  long  train 
of  rings  marking  their  varied  course.  How  easily  they 
turn,  or  glide  over  the  surrounding  hedges,  never  resting, 


THE  SWALLOW.  259 


never  weary,  and  defying  the  eye  to  trace  them  in  the 
infinite  turnings  and  twistings  of  their  rapid  shooting 
flight.  You  frequently  see  them  glide  rapidly  near  the 
ground,  and  then  with  a  sidelong  motion  mount  aloft, 
to  dart  downwards  like  an  animated  meteor,  their 
plumage  glowing  in  the  light  with  metallic  splendour, 
and  the  row  of  white  spots  on  the  tail  contrasting 
beautifully  with  the  darker  plumage. 

Swallows  may  always  be-  distinguished  from  other 
birds  when  alighting,  by  their  keeping  the  pinions  in 
motion  until  they  are  firmly  seated  on  the  chosen 
perching  place.  This  proves  for  ever  the  inability  of 
this  bird  to  use  its  feet  for  motion — other  birds  gifted 
with  greater  length  and  power  of  legs  close  the  wings 
just  prior  to  alighting.  When  at  rest  its  short  legs  pre- 
vent it  from  walking  or  hopping,  and  if  it  does  move  on 
its  perching  place,  which  is  very  seldom,  the  wings  are 
invariably  called  into  use  and  aid  it  in  its  motions. 
Therefore,  once  at  rest,  Swallows,  Swifts,  and  Martins 
usually  sit  motionless  until  their  restless  nature  leads 
them  once  more  to  course  through  the  circumambient  air. 
The  song  of  the  Swallow,  for  he  has  a  song  both  loud 
and  sweet,  is  uttered  when  the  bird  is  in  motion,  although 
he  will  sometimes  warble  forth  in  a  subdued  tone  when 
at  rest.  It  is  a  song  worthy  of  the  bird's  wandering  and 
buoyant  nature,  and  fully  harmonises  with  his  rapid 
flight.  In  the  smiling  month  of  May  you  are  sometimes 
puzzled  by  hearing  a  strange  song  in  the  air,  perhaps 
a  hundred  yards  away.  The  song  sounds  nearer  and 
nearer,  till  at  last,  above  your  head,  you  find  it  is  the 
Swallow,  singing  as  he  flies,  giving  forth  a  long  train  of 
rambling  though  pleasing  notes.  You  hear  him  warble 
most  frequently  in  the  late  summer  months,  when  his 
young  are  coursing  round  him,  and  then  it  is  heard  in 


260  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


all  the  fulness  of  its  soft  and  inexpressible  beauty.  The 
young  males  will  often  warble  a  few  notes  in  autumn — a 
circumstance,  by  the  way,  met  with  in  few  birds. 

The   great  purpose  of  the    Swallow's  visit  to    our 
northern  climes  is  the  rearing  of  its  young.    The  Swallow, 
from  what   I  have  observed  of  its  habits,  I  consider  to 
be    a   life-paired    species,  and    therefore   with  unerring 
certainty  it  returns  to  its  nesting-site  of  the  previous 
season.     The  Martin   returns  to  its  old  nest  and  again 
uses  it  for  its  purpose  ;  but  the  Swallow  returns  to  its 
nesting-site  alone,  and  builds  a   new  nest  close  to  the 
one  of  the  previous  season.     The  Swallow  has  perhaps 
never  been  known  to  build  a  nest  in  the   open  air.     In 
barns  and  outhouses,  upon  the  beams  of  wood  which  sup- 
port the  roof,  or  on  some  stone  jutting  out  of  the  wall  or  • 
chimney,  or  any  other  coigne  of  'vantage,  we  find  its  nest. 
In  the  month  of  May  Swallows  are  seen  hovering  near 
muddy  places,  and  finally  alighting,  to  procure  a  little 
of  the  mud  with  which  to  build  a  part  of  their  nest. 
Many  journeys   do  the  little  creatures  perform,   some- 
times for  a  considerable   distance,  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  each  time  returning  with  a  little  bit  of  mud  in  their 
beak,  which  they  artfully  mould  into  a  cup-shaped  cavity. 
When  the  outside  portion  is  finished,  the  birds  line  it 
with  a  quantity    of  grass   and  feathers.     Much  of  the 
lining  material   is  obtained  when  the  birds  are  on  the 
wing — a  downy  feather  from  the  poultry  yard,  wafted 
into  the  air  by  the  breeze,  is  secured,  and  the  straws 
raised  by  a  sudden  gust  are  seized  and  conveyed  to  the 
nest.     The  nest  completed,  four  or  five  eggs  are  deposited 
of  a  pure  white  colour,  with  deep  rich  brown  blotches  and 
spots,  notably  at  the  larger  end,  round  which  they  often 
form  a  zone  or  belt.     The  sitting  bird  is  fed  by  its  mate, 
who   keeps   visiting   the   place  with   joyous   twittering 


THE  SWALLOW.  261 


cries  during  the  whole  period  of  incubation.  A  weary 
though  resistless  task  it  must  be  to  the  ever  moving 
Swallow  to  sit  patiently  for  so  long  in  a  gloomy  shed  or 
outbuilding.  Yet  it  is  a  labour  of  love,  to  which  the 
sitting  bird  willingly  yields  its  life  of  liberty  and  motion 
for  so  long  a-  period,  and  the  sight  of  their  tender  brood 
amply  repays  the  joyous  parents  for  the  weary  anxious 
days  of  confinement. 

Early  in  July  the  young  Swallows  are  strong  on  the 
wing,  and  it  is  a  pleasing  sight  to  watch  the  old  birds 
feed  them  when  flying  through  the  air.-  Well  do  the 
little  ones  know  their  parents'  call,  and  fly  quickly  to 
them,  when  the  parent  bird  places  in  their  beaks  the 
proffered  food,  both  little  one  and  parent  all  the  time 
fluttering  in  the  air,  and  giving  forth  their  twittering 
notes.  The  young  Swallows  can  instantly  be  distinguished 
from  the  mature  birds  by  the  absence  of  the  two  thin 
and  elongated  tail  feathers,  which  are  a  mark  of  maturity 
alone.  The  food  of  the  Swallow  is  composed  of  insects 
alone,  and  the  number  these  birds  destroy  in  a  single 
summer,  would,  if  known,  be  truly  astounding.  They  are, 
in  the  summer  time,  on  the  wing  for  fully  sixteen  hours, 
and  the  greater  part  of  the  time  making  terrible  havoc 
amongst  the  millions  of  insects  which  infest  the  air.  I 
never  see  them  molest  the  butterflies,  but  doubtless  the 
smaller  species  of  day-flying  moths  are  preyed  upon. 
The  Swallow  keeps  up  its  insect-hunting  labour  till  late 
in  the  evening,  and  I  often  see  its  dusky  form  dash  across 
the  western  sky  while  the  bat  is  hawking  for  flies  around 
me.  When  we  see  the  Swallow  flying  high  in  the 
heavens  it  is  a  neverfailing  sign  of  fine  weather.  The 
reason  of  this  elevated  flight  is  simply  because  the 
insects  on  which  it  feeds  are  acted  on  by  the  state  of 
the  atmosphere  in  their  low  or  elevated  flights.  The 


26;  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

Swallow  does  not  always  obtain  its  food  when  flying 
through  the  air,  for  I  ofttimes  see  him  alight  in  turnip 
fields,  for  the  purpose  of  feeding  on  the  vast  quantities 
of  insects  that  are  often  found  on  the  leaves  of  that 
plant.  The  bird,  however,  is  not  seen  to  move  when  on 
the  ground,  and  when  the  insect  is  secured  it  flies  rapidly 
away. 

A  fact  common  to  life-paired  and  gregarious  birds  is 
that  the  young  keep  in  company  with  their  parents  long 
after  they  leave  the  nest,  and  are  fed  and  tended  by 
them  at  an  age  when  the  young  of  annual-paired  and 
non -gregarious  species  are  left  to  forage  for  themselves. 
Thus  we  see  Swallows  attending  their  young  all  the 
summer  and  autumn,  and  leaving  us  in  company.  In 
September,  Swallows,  though  of  gregarious  habits,  join 
in  still  larger  flocks,  and  frequent  various  suitable 
localities.  These  Swallow  gatherings  are  a  sure  sign  of 
the  waning  year,  and  afford  an  interesting  sight  to  the 
lover  of  animated  nature.  To  see  thousands  of  these 
little  creatures  in  company  with  Martins,  sailing  over  a 
sheet  of  water  or  gliding  over  the  meadows,  awakens 
strange  thoughts  within  us.  We  know  that  each  of 
these  little  songsters,  .unless  accident  befall  it,  has  a 
long  and  perilous  journey  to  perform.  Many  probably 
there  are  who  will  never  reach  the  distant  shore,  but  all 
now  are  merry  and  contented.  On  the  tops  of  the 
neighbouring  trees,  or  even  on  the  fences,  sit  dozens  ol 
the  birds,  and  upon  closer  observation  we  find  that  the 
majority  are  young  ones.  With  quivering  wings,  and 
sharp  twittering  notes,  the  little  creatures  await  the 
arrival  of  their  parents  with  food.  Their  little  wings 
are  weary,  and  they  therefore  depend  on  the  more 
strong  and  well-tried  pinions  of  their  parents  for  sus- 
tenance. And  thus  the  time  passes  on,  yet  still  numbers 


THE  SWALLOW.  263 


more  swell  the  ranks  ;  October  arrives,  and  with  it  a  few 
days  of  cold  weather  ;  the  Swallows  must  not  tarry,  and 
the  main  flocks  wing  their  way  southwards.  But  still  a 
few  are  seen  late  in  this  month,  young  birds  not  suffi- 
ciently matured  for  their  long  journey,  and  their  parents. 
The  winds  bring  down  the  golden  leaves,  and  whistle 
mournfully  through  the  half-naked  branches,  a  stern 
hint  that  the  birds  must  away  to  a  warmer  clime. 
Those  now  unable  to  journey  on  are  left  to  perish,  for 
the  migratory  instinct  is  imperative  within  the  strong 
and  healthy  birds,  and  before  October's  nut-brown 
month  has  waned  the  Swallows  have  departed  for  their 
southern  haunts. 


264  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 


MARTINS. 

Two  species  of  Martin  fly  over  our  waters  and 
meadows,  namely,  the  Sand  Martin  and  the  House 
Martin.  The  former  of  these  little  creatures  is  amongst 
the  first  birds  to  arrive  here  in  the  spring,  for  the  vernal 
equinox  is  scarcely  passed  ere  we  see  these  little  aerial 
songsters,  in  their  sober  garb  of  brown  and  white,  flitting 
round  the  sandbanks  which  contain  their  nests. 

The  Sand  Martin  is  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
sandpits,  where  hundreds  may  be  seen  skimming  through 
the  air  on  never-tiring  wing.  Their  flight,  however,  is 
not  so  rapid  as  the  true  Swallow,  nor  is  it  of  such  a 
peculiar  twisting  nature.  Like  the  Swallow  family  in 
general,  the  Sand  Martin  delights  to  skim  over  large 
pools  of  water,  occasionally  touching  the  surface  with  its 
wings.  All  members  of  the  Swallow  tribe  drink  when 
on  the  wing,  and,  judging  from  their  motions,  they  do  so 
pretty  frequently.  Sand  Martins  are  strictly  gregarious, 
and  tHere  are  few  more  lively  scenes  in  bird  life  than 
a  large  company  of  these  active  little  creatures.  The 
neighbouring  sandbanks  are  pierced  with  their  holes, 
many'  hundred  pairs  of  birds  living  together.  The  birds 
are  constantly  in  motion,  darting  hither  and  thither, 
uttering  their  pleasing  notes,  and  occasionally  visiting 
their  nests  with  food  for  their  sitting  mates.  Let  us  try 
to  gain  some  little  insight  into  their  nesting  habits  from 
the  feathered  tenants  of  yonder  sandbank. 


MARTINS. 


•MARTINS.  265 


The  Sand  Martin,  like  all  its  congeners,  is  joined  to 
its  partner  for  life,  and  every  season  we  find  the  old 
nest  and  locality  frequented  by  the  birds.  We  find  that 
the  Sand  Martins,  with  wonderful  instinct,  only  choose 
those  portions  of  the  bank  for  their  purpose  that  are 
sufficiently  firm  to  admit  of  tunneling.  The  site  selected, 
the  little  creatures  work  away  with  unceasing  zeal, 
scratching  out  a  hole  perhaps  three  inches  in  diameter, 
and  extending  some  two  or  three  feet  into  the  solid  bank. 
The  bird  also  provides  for  drainage  by  making  the  hole 
rise  gradually  until  it  reaches  the  nest  ;  and  the  holes 
are  not  always  straight,  and  it  is  then  with  difficulty  the 
arm  of  the  observer  can  reach  the  nest.  At  the  end  of 
this  passage  the  birds  construct  a  very  loose  and  slovenly 
nest  of  dry  grass  and  feathers.  The  eggs,  four  or  five 
in  number,  are  of  the  purest  white,  and  fragile  in  the  ex- 
treme. They  are  much  smaller  than  the  Swallow's  or 
House  Martin's,  and  before  the  contents  are  removed 
possess  a  lovely  tinge  of  pink.  Most  wonderful  is  the 
instinct  that  guides  the  Sand  Martin  to  its  own  nesting- 
hole,  especially  when  that  hole  is  surrounded  by  hun- 
dreds of  similar  ones,  differing  to  the  human  observer 
in  nothing  from  the  surrounding  ones.  But  maternal 
love  is  strong  within  the  mother  bird,  and  her  home 
would  be  readily  found  under  still  more  perplexing  cir- 
cumstances. The  young  birds  are  fed  when  on  the  wing 
by  their  parents,  and  return  in  company  with  them  to 
the  nesting  cavity  for  repose  when  the  shadows  of  night 
are  falling. 

The  song  of  the  Martin  is  only  occasionally  heard, 
and  is  a  short,  wild,  and  rambling  performance.  Though 
the  House  Martins  congregate  with  Swallows,  still  you 
but  rarely  see  either  House  Martins  or  Swallows  flying 
with  the  Sand  Martins,  especially  where  they  are 


266  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

numerous.  The  food  of  the  Sand  Martin  is  composed 
of  insects,  and  the  refuse  is  cast  up  in  little  pellets. 

The  second  of  these  birds,  the  House  Martin,  is 
found  in  all  places  suitable  to  the  Swallow,  with  whom 
it  congregates,  although  it  arrives  much  sooner  and 
departs  a  little  earlier  than  that  bird. 

The  flight  of  the  Martin  is  slightly  different  from  the 
Swallow.  Martins,  as  a  rule,  if  a  rule  can  be  applied  to 
such  a  motion  as  flight,  do  not  fly  so  swiftly.  You  can 
tell  the  Martin  from  the  Swallow  by  the  patch  of  snowy 
white  plumage  on  the  back  and  rump,  and  the  absence  of 
the  acutely  forked  tail.  When  the  rain  is  falling  heavily 
the  Martin  seeks  shelter  from  its  downpour,  but  when 
the  summer  rain  is  falling  soft  and  light,  and  everything 
bears  that  refreshing  sweetness  so  prominent  during  a 
summer  shower,  they  delight  to  course  through  the 
heavens,  and  it  is  then  their  flight  may  be  seen  to  per- 
fection. Now  the  birds  glide  rapidly  past  you,  and  then 
with  fluttering  pinions  climb  the  vault  of  air  ;  then  down 
again  with  a  smooth  gliding  motion  they  sail  gracefully 
to  the  ground,  to  again  mount  upwards  and  sail  in  track- 
less course.  Now  we  see  them  gliding  found  the  trees, 
and  when  they  mount  the  air  with  depressed  tail  and 
fluttering  wings  their  fine  white  plumage  shows  con- 
spicuously against  the  sober  greens  of  summer  vegeta- 
tion. But  their  flight  is  so  infinitely  varied  withal,  that 
the  pen  does  little  in  attempting  to  describe  it,  and  the 
birds  must  be  seen  in  ferd  naturd  to  form  a  correct  idea 
of  its  airy  gracefulness.  I  have  been  thus  minute  in 
describing  the  flight  of  this  aerial  group  of  songsters, 
because  they  spend  so  much  time  in  the  air,  that  their 
motions  in  that  element  form  one  of  their  chief 
characteristics. 

The  song  of  the  Martin  is  heard  but  rarely,  and  when 


MARTINS.  267 

heard,  the  bird  is  nine  times  out  of  ten  seen  sitting  on  a 
roof,  tree,  or  other  perching  place.  The  song  is  low, 
sweet,  and  varied,  but  not  so  rich  as  that  of  the  Swallow. 
When  the  Martin  is  at  rest  on  the  roofs  of  buildings  it 
is  amusing  to  see  the  awkward  attempts  to  progress  by 
the  feet  alone.  They  will  move  for  a  few  inches  with  a 
rolling  kind  of  motion,  but  the  observer  will  find  that 
their  wings  assist  them  even  in  this  small  attempt  at  a 
movement  nature  has  not  intended  them  to  put  forth. 

The  Martin,  like  all  other  members  of  this  family, 
pairs  for  life,  and  thus  we  see  the  little  wanderers,  -soon 
after  their  arrival,  alighting  on  their  old  mud-built  nests, 
or  if  they  have  been  destroyed  while  the  birds  were 
absent,  the  little  creatures  with  wonderful  instinct  cling 
to  the  site  of  their  former  home,  and  as  the  time  ap- 
proaches when  they  are  called  upon  to  propagate  their 
species,  a  new  nest  is  built  in  the  same  position.  Unlike 
its  congeners,  the  Swallow  and  Sand  Martin,  the  House 
Martin  builds  its  nest  in  the  open  air,  where  every 
passer-by  can  see  it.  We  will  suppose  a  pair  of  Martins 
are  about  to  commence  nest-building,  and  having  chosen 
the  site,  which  is  either  on  the  rocks,  under  the  eaves  of 
buildings,  or  the  sides  of  windows  or  chimneys,  the  little 
builders  with  small  pieces  of  soft  mud  commence  the 
outside  of  their  nest.  If  the  Martins  built  too  much  of 
their  nest  at  a  time,  it  would  only  drop  to  the  ground, 
and  all  their  labour  be  in  vain.  But  with  an  instinct  we 
cannot  help  admiring,  they  allow  one  portion  to  harden 
before  building  further :  layer  succeeds  layer  as  we  see 
them  clinging  to  their  nest,  moulding  and  shaping  the 
materials,  until  the  outside  part  is  completed,  leaving  a 
small  hole  at  the  top  for  the  entrance  of  the  birds.  This 
nest  of  mud  is  lined  with  dry  grass  and  feathers,  and 
when  completed  is  a  very  warm  and  comfortable  nest 


268  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


indeed.  Their  eggs  are  a  pure  and  spotless  white  when 
blown,  like  those  of  the  Sand  Martin,  and  usually  four  or 
five  in  number.  When  the  bird  is  sitting  upon  them  its 
mate  keeps  visiting  it  with  food,  and  when  the  young 
are  hatched  these  little  insect  hunters  are  taxed  to  the 
utmost  from  before  sunrise  till  after  sunset,  for  the  hungry 
clamourings  of  their  tender  brood  are  incessant.  The 
young  Martins  are  tended  by  their  parents  right  up  to 
the  time  of  their  departure  in  October,  and,  like  Swallows, 
they  feed  their  offspring  when  flying  through  the  air  or 
when  resting  their  weakly  wings  by  alighting  on  the 
trees,  fences,  and  buildings.  The  food  of  the  Martin  is 
composed  of  insects,'  and  the  refuse  of  their  food  is  cast 
up  in  pellets.  We  often  in  the  month  of  June  see  the 
Martins  alighting  in  the  turnip  fields,  for  the  purpose  of 
securing  the  smaller  beetles  and  flies  which  infest  these 
situations ;  so  are  they  also  seen  catching  the  various 
insects  on  the  tall  grass,  by  hovering  above  it  until  they 
have  captured  their  prey. 

In  the  autumn  months  the  Martins  congregate  in 
vast  flocks,  and  spend  their  time  in  coursing  through  the 
air  or  basking  in  the  sunshine  on  the  trees  and  buildings. 
And  a  joyous  merry  party  they  are,  no  care  upon  them, 
and  abundance  of  food  around.  But  as  the  year  rolls 
on  insect  life  becomes  scarcer,  and  the  chilling  winds 
bid  the  Martins  prepare  for  their  long  journey.  At 
length  the  day  of  departure  arrives,  and  all  who  are 
strong  and  healthy  fly  on  rapid  wings  in  an  unswerving 
course  to  the  south.  Across  the  mountains,  rivers,  and 
woods  of  our  own  country  they  speed,  and  at  last  the 
broad  ocean  lays  before  them.  But  still  on,  on  ;  to 
delay  is  death  ;  and  boldly  they  enter  on  their  long 
flight  over  the  briny  surge  of  ocean.  Arrived  at  last  on 
the  far  distant  shore,  they  mayhap  spend  a  fe\v  days 


MARTINS.  269 


sailing  over  the  vineyards  and  olive  gardens  of  France 
and  Spain.  But  this  is  not  their  destination,  and  still 
with  heads  pointed  to  the  south  they  fly  on.  Now  the 
broad  Mediterranean  appears  in  sight ;  but  this  is  not 
their  winter  home,  and  the  birds  must  cross  the  ocean 
once  more.  By  resistless  impulse  driven,  over  they  fly, 
the  weakly  ones  falling,  to  perish.  And  now  the  distant 
shores  of  Africa  are  in  sight ;  at  last  their  haven  of 
safety  is  reached,  and  the  birds,  exhausted  after  their 
long  pilgrimage,  find  here  food  in  abundance,  and  a 
genial  climate  in  which  to  bask  until  the  sun  in  his 
northern  journey  sends  them  again  to  our  country  as 
heralds  of  the  glorious  spring. 


270  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


THE  SWIFT. 

So  like  the  Swallow  in  appearance,  habits,  and  re- 
quirements, the  Swift  is  but  only  a  distant  relation. 
Formerly  this  bird  was  thought  to  be  nothing  more  than 
a  kind  of  Swallow  ;  but  since  anatomy  has  gone  hand 
in  hand  with  the  science  of  ornithology,  naturalists  have 
found  that  the  Swift  is  widely  separated  from  it.  But 
leaving  the  subject  to  the  study  of  those  well  versed 
in  ornithology,  as  the  present  little  volume  is  for  be- 
ginners, and  only  endeavours  to  treat  with  the  habits  of 
birds  alone,  we  will  return  to  the  life  history  of  this 
aerial  songster. 

The  Swift  is  one  of  the  latest  migratory  birds  to 
arrive,  for  we  seldom  see  him  before  the  first  week  in 
May,  sometimes  much  later,  according  to  the  state  of  the 
weather.  He  delights  in  the  cultivated  districts,  and  is 
found  in  the  company  of  Swallows  and  Martins.  Round 
the  ancient  towers  of  cathedrals  and  churches  in  the 
country  towns,  we  see  them  in  large  numbers  making 
the  still  air  resound  with  their  sharp  shrieking  notes. 

A  bird  gifted  with  great  powers  of  flight  is  the  Swift, 
even  more  so  than  the  Swallow.  When  in  the  air  he 
bears  no  resemblance  to  any  other  British  bird,  except- 
ing perhaps  the  Swallow ;  but  even  then  the  difference 
is  very  striking.  When  flying  he  is  very  similar  to  a 
crescent,  pierced  with  a  short  dagger  or  spear,  which 
represents  the  body  of  the  bird,  and  the  wings  form 


THE  SWIFT.  271 


the  crescent.  With  graceful  wheeling  motions,  short 
turnings,  and  infinite  tvvistings,  together  with  his  great 
rapidity  of  motion,  he  is,  indeed,  a  wonderful  bird.  To 
see  a  company  of  them  on  a  tranquil  evening  in  early 
summer  is  a  sight  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  See 
them  sailing  far  up  in  the  azure  vault  ;'a  few  strokes  of 
those  long  scythe-shaped  wings,  and  they  are  coursing 
round  you,  uttering  their  sharp  notes  ;  then  again  they 
mount  aloft,  to  wheel  and  circle  as  before.  Now  they 
appear  but  specks  in  the  air,  and  their  sharp  notes  are 
heard  faintly  sounding  above.  The  flight  of  the  Swift, 
however,  taken  altogether,  is  not  so  rapid  as  that  of  the 
Swallow,  but  at  times  these  birds  will  chase  each  other 
through  the  air  with  incredible  velocity. 

Swifts  return  annually  to  their  old  nesting- sites,  and 
consequently  we  know  the  birds  are  joined  together  for 
life.  The  Swift  does  not  necessarily  require  an  elevated 
site  for  its  nest,  as  is  very  generally  supposed,  for  they  will 
build  under  the  eaves  of  houses,  in  places  similar  to  those 
tenanted  by  the  House  Sparrow,  just  as  frequently  as 
in  the  crevices  of  cathedrals  hundreds  of  feet  above.  The 
Swift  is  never  seen  to  alight  on  the  ground  or  trees,  and 
consequently  obtains  the  greater  part  of  its  nesting  ma- 
terials when  they  are  floating  through  the  air.  Straws 
and  feathers  are  secured  when  the  bird  is  on  the  wing, 
and  conveyed  to  its  nesting-hole,  for  be  it  known  the 
Swift,  like  the  Sand  Martin,  rears  its  young  in  a  hole ; 
but  with  this  difference — the  Swift  repairs  to  holes  in 
rocks  and  buildings  for  its  purpose.  A  slight  nest  of 
straws  and  a  few  feathers  are  all  that  is  required,  and  these 
materials  are  woven  together  without  the  use  of  any  sticky 
substance  produced  by  the  bird,  as  many  persons  would 
have  us  believe.  The  eggs,  unlike  those  of  any  of  the 
Swallow  tribe,  are  only  two,  or  but  rarely  three,  in  num- 


272  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

ber,  somewhat  elongated,  and  of  a  pure  and  spotless 
white.  The  young  Swifts  are  tended  by  their  parents 
after  they  leave  the  nest,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe 
the  young  and  their  parents  roost  every  night  in  the 
nesting-hole  until  the  time  of  migration  arrives. 

The  food  of  the  Swift  is  insects,  and  I  sometimes  see 
them  coursing  over  the  grass  fields,  hawking  for  various 
small  beetles.  I  often  ponder  over  the  unerring  instinct 
that  leads  birds  to  seek  that  food  best  adapted  to  them. 
I  see  the  Chaffinch  on  the  manure  heaps  ;  the  Wagtails 
on  the  pastures ;  Swallows  and  Swifts  darting  through 
the  circumambient  air ;  Sandpipers  on  the  mudflats ; 
Sparrows  near  man's  habitation ;  Ducks  seeking  for 
water  plants  ;  Creepers  and  Woodpeckers  on  ancient 
timber ;  Linnets  and  many  other  Finches  obtaining 
the  seeds  of  most  noxious  weeds  ;  and  Falcons  preying 
upon  the  helpless  of  their  own  vast  feathered  race.  In  a 
word,  all  seeking  for  that  food  Nature  has  best  provided 
them  with  suitable  appliances  for  obtaining. 

The  Swift,  as  I  previously  stated,  is  one  of  the  last 
birds  to  arrive  here  in  spring,  and,  as  is  frequently  the 
case  with  such  birds,  it  is  one  of  the  first  to  leave 
us  in  the  autumn.  Unlike  the  Swallows  and  Martins, 
you  never  see  the  Swift  in  such  vast  flocks  preparing 
for  their  autumnal  migration  ;  yet  the  Swift  is  gregarious, 
even  as  much  so  as  the  Swallow.  Soon  after  the  Cuckoo's 
departure,  we  may  look  for  the  absence  of  the  Swift,  and 
by  the  latter  end  of  August,  or  beginning  of  September 
at  farthest,  we  suddenly  miss  them  from  their  old  haunts. 
Formerly  it  was  gravely  supposed  that  the  Swift,  and 
all  birds  of  the  Swallow  kind,  lay  dormant  in  crevices  of 
rocks  and  buildings  throughout  the  winter,  and  were 
again  called  into  life  and  animation  by  the  genial  pre- 
sence of  a  vernal  sun.  But  when  naturalists  gave  the 


THE  SWIFT.  273 


subject  close  attention,  it  was  speedily  shown  to  be  a 
gross  absurdity;  and  now  it  is  known  for  certain  that 
Swallows  and  Swifts  retire  every  autumn  to  Northern 
Africa  for  the  purpose  of  spending  the  winter  months. 
The  reason  the  Swift  leaves  us  so  early  is  said  to  be 
because  the  bird  is  but  of  delicate  constitution  ;  and, 
certain  it  is,  the  cold  winds  and  frosty  nights  of  autumn 
cannot  be  borne  with  comfort,  if  at  all,  by  a  bird  ap- 
proaching very  closely  in  its  structure  to  the  Humming 
Birds  themselves. 


THE  KESTREL. 

THERE  are  now  but  two  raptorial  birds — or,  more  plainly 
speaking,  birds  of  prey — of  any  frequent  occurrence  in 
this  country.  True,  the  wanderer  over  the  moors  will 
perhaps  see  a  few  Hobbies  and  Merlins  in  the  deepest 
solitudes,  or  notice  a  solitary  Buzzard  in  tlie  largest 
woods,  but  such  occurrences  are  becoming  rarer  year 
by  year,  and  the  Kestrel  and  Sparrowhawk  are  the 
birds  most  commonly  met  with. 

The  Kestrel,  or,  as  it  is  frequently  called,  the  Wind- 
hover, from  its  peculiar  habit  of  hovering  motionless  in 
the  air,  is  perhaps  the  most  frequently  seen.  We  find 
him  in  the  woods  and  coppices,  or  even  in  the  moorland 
districts  he  is  seen  sailing  majestically  over  the  rugged 
ravines,  or  perched  on  the  stunted  trees  growing  out  of 
the  massive  rocks.  With  us  the  Kestrel  is  a  partially 
migratory  species.  They  leave  us  at  the  latter  end  of 
autumn,  and  return  early  in  the  following  year,  some- 
times as  soon  as  February.  But  let  not  the  observer  be 
led  astray  by  these  remarks,  for  I  have  never  yet  known 


THE  KESTREL.  275 


a  winter  in  which  I  have  not  seen  this  graceful  Falcon 
from  time  to  time. 

The  flight  of  this  active  little  bird  is  composed  of  a 
series  of  graceful  flappings  and  smooth  glidings.  H  e  sails 
buoyantly  over  the  woods,  fields,  and  hedgerows,  giving 
himself  an  impetus  by  a  series  of  rapid  flappings,  and 
then  skimming  elegantly  for  a  short  distance,  until  his 
momentum  is  expended.  Now  lingering  to  perform 
those  graceful  quivering  motions  :  he  seems  to  move  not, 
his  rounded  tail  fully  expanded  ;  then  the  flappings  are 
renewed,  and  varied  by  the  sailing  motions.  Suddenly 
poising  himself  for  an  instant,  he  darts  downwards  with 
the  rapidity  of  an  arrow,  and  secures  an  unsuspecting 
field  mouse,  quietly  eating  its  meal  from  an  ear  of  corn. 
Upwards  he  sails,  with  the  quivering  mouse  in  his  talons, 
to  his  nest  if  in  the  breeding  season,  or  off  to  some  quiet 
nook  where  he  can  consume  his  prey  in  peace  if  the  cares 
and  anxieties  of  a  family  do  not  intrude  upon  him. 
Now  he  is  seen  coursing  through  the  air  at  a  stupendous 
elevation,  his  long  pointed  wings  and  beautifully  rounded 
tail  displaying  themselves  to  perfection.  Then  in  a 
series  of  beautiful  curves  he  makes  a  spiral  descent  to  a 
lower  atmosphere,  and  is  seen  searching  for  prey ;  but  rest 
assured  no  thought  of  prey  is  in  his  square-looking  head 
when  sailing  at  such  great  elevations.  Even  his  piercing 
eye  would  fail  to  distinguish  the  mouse  in  the  corn  field 
or  the  ladybird  running  gaily  over  the  grass  stem. 
What  these  elevated  flights  are  for  man  knows  not,  and 
will  probably  never  know  ;  but  of  this  we  may  rest 
assured,  that  Nature  has  a  purpose  in  sending  the 
Kestrel  so  high  in  the  circumambient  air. 

Among  the  many  birds  that  hover  in  the  heavens, 
perhaps  the  Kestrel  is  the  most  graceful,  and  indeed  the 
most  frequently  seen  in  that  position.  You  see  the  bird 


2;6  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

hover  when  in  search  of  prey,  or  when  it  appears  but  a 
speck  in  the  highest  ether,  suspended  as  it  were  like  Juno 
with  a  cord  from  heaven.  You  know  Juno's  story?  On 
account  of  the  severity  with  which  she  persecuted 
Hercules,  Jupiter  ordered  her  to  be  suspended  between 
heaven  and  earth  with  a  golden  chain.  How  aptly  this 
applies  to  the  Kestrel !  You  see  the  bird  motionless  as 
it  were,  but  cast  your  telescope  in  the  direction,  and  you 
find  he  is  in  a  perpetual  quiver.  Notice  how  he  courses 
with  slow  and  majestic  flight  on  his  unknown  tour 
through  the  air,  or  with  a  few  strokes  of  those  long  wings 
and  ample  tail  he  visits  the  lower  atmosphere,  and  goes 
skimming  over  the  smiling  fields  and  hedgerows  in  search 
of  prey. 

With  the  Hawk  we  are  apt  to  associate  a  deadly 
enemy  to  the  little  songsters  that  hop  from  spray  to 
spray  around  us  ;  but  certainly  with  the  Kestrel  it  is  a 
decided  error.  Mice  and  coleopterous  insects  form  his 
only  food  in  summer  ;  but  in  winter,  when  the  mice  are 
for  the  most  part  lying  dormant  and  the  insects  seldom 
seen,  he  occasionally  preys  upon  the  smaller  birds,  but 
only  as  a  last  resource,  for  by  the  way  the  little  birds 
receive  his  advances  I  am  certain  they  know  him  not 
as  an  enemy.  Of  the  countless  numbers  of  mice  the 
Windhover  destroys  I  am  reluctant  to  speak,  for  many 
persons  will  scarcely  credit  that  this  bird,  in  the  breed- 
ing season,  will  and  does  destroy  as  many  as  thirty  mice 
in  a  day.  Calculate  this,  all  landowners,  game  pre- 
servers, gardeners,  and  agriculturists,  and  molest  not 
the  Kestrel.  We  have  not  yet  said  anything  about  the 
beetles.  Let  us  examine  this  pellet — for  be  it  known 
all  birds  of  the  Hawk  tribe  cast  up  the  refuse  of  their 
food  in  the  form  of  pellets — taken  from  a  nest  of  this 
bird.  In  it  we  find  the  bones  and  skins  of  several  mice, 


THE  KESTREL.  277 


also  the  hard  horny  covering  of  numerous  beetles, 
amongst  which  we  notice  one  of  the  smallest  species  of 
ladybirds.  Many  persons  will  perhaps  be  puzzled  as  to 
where  the  bird  finds  these  incredible  numbers  of  mice, 
for  in  a  ramble  over  the  fields  not  one  will  probably  be 
seen.  The  simple  reason  is  this  :  the  mouse  is. very  quick 
at  hearing,  and  is  out  of  sight  long  before  the  observer 
reaches  him  ;  but  the  Kestrel  comes  upon  him  from  the 
air  so  softly,  that  he  is  secured  without  even  a  chance  of 
escape. 

He  who  roams  through  our  thickest  woods  just  as 
the  trees  are  assuming  their  vernal  garb  will  often  hear  a 
chattering  cry  from  some  tree  top — a  cry,  by  the  way, 
not   so    discordant   as   that   of  the    Magpie.     Tis   the 
Kestrel   calling    to   his   mate,    who    is    not    far   away, 
probably  in  her  nest  in  the  Magpie's  old  abode  in  a 
neighbouring  tree.     Before  we  notice  the  nesting  habits 
of  the  Kestrel,  I  would  hazard  a  conjecture  that  these 
birds  pair  for  life.     Every  season,  if  not  molested,  the 
Kestrels  use  the  same  tenement  for  their  purpose.     In 
several  instances  coming  before  my  own  observation  the 
female  bird  has  been  destroyed,  yet  the  solitary  male 
has  found  another  mate,  and  returned  by  resistless  im- 
pulse  to  the   old  abode.     The    Kestrel  has   never  yet 
been  known  to  make  its  nest  in  a  tree.     In  a  word,  this 
graceful  little  Falcon  would  be  going  against  Nature's 
unerring   laws  were  it  guilty  of  so  doing.     Therefore 
when  a  writer  informs  us  that  the  Kestrel  builds  its 
nest  in  a  tree,  I  know  at  once  he  is  in  error,  and  has 
had  but  little  experience  with  the  nesting  habits  of  the 
bird  ;  or  if  his  Kestrels  build  nests  in  trees  they  must 
have  conformed  to  these  our  present  times  of  improve- 
ment, for  Kestrels  in  this  part  of  the  country  follow  the 
old  way  of  providing  for  the  comforts  of  a  family.    True, 


278  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

we  find  its  eggs  in  rocks,  or  even  in  old  barns  and 
church  steeples,  but  the  eggs  invariably  lie  upon  a  bed 
of  pellets,  or  upon  what  materials  chance  may  have 
placed  there.  But  we  shall  see  how  Nature  usually 
provides  the  Kestrel  with  a  nest.  The  Kestrel  of  the 
woodlands  repairs  to  the  old  abode  of  the  Carrion  Crow 
or  Magpie  for  its  purpose.  In.  yonder  oak  tree  is  a 
Magpie's  nest,  which  a  pair  of  Kestrels  have  now  in- 
habited for  two  seasons  past :  let  us  examine  it  closely. 
We  find  upon  climbing  the  tree  that  the  Magpie's  nest 
has  undergone  a  transformation ;  but  whether  from 
accident  or  design  I  know  not.  But  certain  it  is  all 
Kestrels'  nests  I  have  examined  have  been  destitute 
of  the  fibrous  rooty  lining  peculiar  to  a  perfect  Magpie's 
nest.  Mayhap  the  Kestrels  remove  the  lining,  which  no 
doubt  is  full  of  filth  and  dirt,  for  the  purpose  of  cleanli- 
ness. The  hard  lining  of  mud  therefore  is  the  bed  of  the 
Kestrel's  first  egg,  but  as  the  full  number  of  eggs  are 
deposited,  such  an  incredible  number  of  pellets  of  the 
refuse  of  the  birds'  food  has  accumulated,  that  the  eggs 
at  last  are  on  a  lining  of  the  softest  texture.  He  who 
would  take  the  trouble  to  examine  a  Kestrel's  nest  in  the 
breeding  season  would  become  practically  acquainted 
with  the  bird's  sovereign  usefulness  to  the  gardener  and 
agriculturist. 

We  will  now  take  a  more  careful  view  of  the  contents 
of  the  nest.  We  find  the  eggs,  six  in  number,  sometimes 
only  four  or  five,  most  beautiful  objects.  Like  the  eggs 
of  Falcons  in  general,  they  are  somewhat  rounded  and 
very  highly  coloured,  being  of  a  dirty  white  ground 
colour,  blotched  and  spotted  so  thickly  with  deep 
reddish-brown  of  different  shades  as  to  almost  entirely 
hide  the  ground  colour.  Many  specimens  are  streaked 
and  spotted  with  dark  brown,  others  are  almost  devoid 


THE  KESTREL.  279 


of  colouring  matter.  The  female  Kestrel  when  laying 
does  not  always  deposit  an  egg  each  successive  day 
until  the  full  complement  is  laid,  for  I  have  known  her 
be  ten  days  laying  six  eggs.  The  female  bird  usually 
incubates  the  eggs,  but  the  male  often  sits  upon  them. 
When  the  nest  is  approached  the  sitting  bird  silently 
leaves  it,  but  sometimes  not  before  the  nest  is  almost 
reached,  especially  when  the  eggs  are  approaching 
maturity. 

There  are  few  more  harmless  birds  than  the  Kestrel, 
and  his  life  is  taken  for  imaginary  offences,  when  the 
real  depredator  is  the  Sparrowhawk.  However  harm- 
less a  bird  may  be,  its  innocence  is  not  its  shield  if  it 
happens  to  resemble  one  of  its  congeners  of  confirmed 
bad  habits.  One  Hawk  is  noted  for  his  proneness  to 
carry  off  young  game  and  poultry,  ergo  the  whole  race 
are  as  bad  as  he  ;  and  thus  the  poor  Kestrel  is  doomed  to 
destruction  for  no  fault  of  his  own,  and  simply  because 
but  few  will  speak  a  word  in  his  defence,  or  strive  to 
place  him  amongst  our  many  friends  that  are  clothed  in 
a  garb  of  feathers. 


THE  SPARROWHAWK. 

Tins  small  yet  bold  and  handsome  Hawk  is  seldom 
found  in  any  save  well- wooded  districts — districts  which 
abound  with  the  small  birds  that  constitute  his  food, 
rich,  broad,  well  cultivated  lands,  occasionally  studded 
with  woods.  He  will  also  frequent  the  fir  woods  on  the 
borders  of  the  moors,  and  many  a  tiny  Gold  Crest  and 
Willow  Warbler  fall  victims  to  his  rapacity.  He  also 
daily  sallies  forth  and  hunts  the  lanes,  hedgerows,  and 
coppices,  taking  a  Bunting  here,  a  mouse  there,  an  un- 
lucky Skylark  or  a  pert  little  Sparrow — he  is  no  respecter 
of  persons ;  all  are  the  same  to  him.  Sent  for  the 
purpose  of  keeping  the  small  birds  in  bounds,  he  per- 
forms his  task  equally  and  well. 

The   Sparrowhawk  hovers   in   the  air  just  like  the 


THE  SPARROWHAWK.  281 


Windhover,  only  there  is  a  certain  stiffness — if  I  may 
use  the  term  in  describing  the  motions  of  one  so  grace- 
ful— about  his  flight,  that  at  once  informs  you  the  terror 
of  the  woods  and  fields  is  abroad  in  search  of  prey. 
Though  his  motions,  however,  are  sometimes  similar  to 
the  Windhover,  still  the  little  birds  know  him  at  once  as 
their  mortal  enemy.  See  with  what  alarm  the  Starlings 
pack  together  and  scurry  off  at  his  approach  ;  or  notice 
the  actions  of  the  Finches,  struck  dumb  and  motionless 
with  terror,  as  he  sails  on  high  above  them.  Yet  should 
the  Windhover  appear  in  sight  no  alarm  prevails,  and 
they  let  him  perch  on  the  trees  at  hand  without  even 
stopping  their  merry  warbles.  But  like  many  tyrants, 
the  Sparrowhawk  sometimes  comes  to  grief.  Witness 
the  Rooks,  how  they  mob  him  when  he  happens  to  ap- 
proach too  near  the  trees  which  contain  their  helpless 
young  ;  and  the  smaller  birds,  how  they  sometimes  pack 
together,  and,  trusting  for  safety  in  unity,  chase  him 
hither  and  thither  in  the  circumambient  air.  He  seems 
to  mind  these  attacks  but  little,  appearing  to  enjoy  their 
feeble  attempts  to  annoy  him  ;  though  he  will  often 
turn,  poise  himself  for  a  moment,  and  then  like  an  arrow 
from  a  bow  swoop  amongst  the  now  terrified  songsters, 
and  bear  one  of  their  number  off  in  an  instant.  And 
yet  the  Sparrowhawk,  notwithstanding  his  actions,  which, 
though  they  appear  harsh  and  tyrannical  to  man,  are 
only  those  the  designing  hand  of  Nature  has  taught  him 
to  practise,  is  always  a  bird  I  view  with  pleasure.  With 
his  long  tail  and  rapidly  moving  pinions,  short  neck  and 
dark  slate-coloured  plumage,  truly  he  looks  a  bird  of 
death.  Yet,  withal,  he  is  a  splendid  ornament  to  our 
rural  scenery,  and  it  is  with  me  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
sights  to  see  him  dart  swiftly  and  silently  past  me,  when 


282  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

the  shadows  of  night  are  falling,  into  the  depths  of  the 
gloomy  evergreens,  where  he  ofttimes  seeks  repose. 

As  you  wander  through  the  depths  of  the  woods  o- 
through  the  closest  thickets  you  will  sometimes  notice  a 
heap  of  feathers  :  these  are  the  remnants  of  the  Sparrow- 
hawk's  meal.  Search  closer,  and  you  will  probably  find 
portions  of  the  skull  and  entrails  of  the  victim,  and  by 
your  knowledge  of  the  plumage  of  birds  you  will  also  be 
enabled  to  tell  what  little  chorister  has  been  destroyed. 
These  remnants  are  most  frequently  found  on  elevated 
places,  a  moss-covered  rock,  large  stone,  or  even  the 
broad  horizontal  limb  of  a  tree.  The  Sparrowhawk 
does  not  consume  so  many  of  the  feathers  as  we  should 
suppose,  the  wing  and  tail  feathers  are  invariably  re- 
jected ;  yet  the  bones  are  all  eaten,  so  too  are  the  feet. 
The  refuse  of  his  food — bones,  fur,  and  feathers— is  re- 
jected in  the  form  of  pellets.  The  food  of  the  Sparrow- 
hawk  is  mainly  confined  to  the  smaller  birds  up  to  the 
size  of  a  Thrush,  although  he  is  capable  of  destroying 
much  larger  birds  :  witness  his  depredations  amongst  the 
Partridges  and  Pigeons.  The  manner  in  which  he  takes 
his  prey  is  somewhat  different  to  the  Windhover.  He 
rarely  hovers  in  the  air  previous  to  making  his  swoop, 
but  dashes  like  a  whirlwind  at  his  quarry,  and  bears  it 
off  before  we  have  time  for  thought.  Most  of  the  small 
birds  are  his  victims  more  or  less.  The  Bunting  on  the 
hedgerow,  the  Pipit  cowering  in  the  meadow  grass,  poor 
Cock  Robin  and  the  Dunnock  near  our  habitations,  and 
the  Creeper  and  Wren  in  amongst  the  trees.  The 
charming  little  Bullfinch  loves  the  thickets,  so  too  does 
the  Sparrowhawk,  and  his  lovely  plumage,  blood-stained 
and  torn,  often  marks  out  the  presence  of  this  aerial 
pirate,  and  silently  tells  its  own  tale  of  death.  But 
birds  are  nat  the  only  creatures  subject  to  the  perse- 


THE  SPARROWHAWK.  283 

cutions  of  the  Sparrowhawk.  You  often  see  him  dip 
swiftly  and  silently  down  amongst  the  marshy  places, 
and  bear  off  the  unsuspecting-  frogs.  Field  mice,  rats, 
and  even  young  rabbits  are  also  eaten,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  contents  of  the  pellets  he  ejects.  I  do  not 
think  the  Sparrowhawk  takes  more  than  two  or  three 
small  birds  in  the  day,  save  in  the  breeding  season, 
and  morning  and  evening  are  the.  times  he  most  fre- 
quently hunts  for  food.  He  courses  rapidly  up  the 
hedgerow  sides,  beats  the  open  fields  within  a  few  inches 
of  the  ground,  and  occasionally  soars  to  some  height  in 
the  heavens,  probably  for  the'  purpose  of  surveying  the 
ground  beneath  him.  Now  you  see  him  glide  noise- 
lessly amongst  the  trees  into  the  deepest  shades,  and 
the  next  moment  he  is  out  again  and  past  you  like  a 
flash  of  light.  His  prey  is  always  secured  in  his  claws, 
and  the  death-stroke  comes  from  the  same  source  alone. 
The  supposition  that  birds  of  prey  strike  with  their 
beak  is  erroneous,  for,  sharp  and  powerful  as  it  is,  it  is 
only  used  for  tearing  the  captured  prey  in  pieces. 

I  am  of  opinion  that  the  Sparrowhawk,  like  birds 
of  the  Hawk  tribe  in  general,  pairs  for  life,  and  if 
not  disturbed,  they  will  frequently  use  the  same  nest  for 
years,  or  build  a  new  one  close  at  hand.  The  Sparrow- 
hawk  rarely  commences  nesting  duties  until  the  month 
of  May  fills  his  woodland  haunts  with  the  birds  of 
passage,  which  then  form  his  chief  food,  and  the  food  on 
which  his  young  in  part  reach  maturity.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  belief  to  the  contrary,  the  Sparrowhawk  always 
builds  his  own  nest :  in  this  respect  he  differs  widely 
from  the  Windhover,  but  for  what  cause  we  are  at  pre- 
sent totally  ignorant.  Certainly  it  is  not  because  no 
old  nests  are  accessible,  for  the  Carrion  Crow  and  the 
Magpie  build  in  plenty  all  around  him,  and  their  deserted 


284  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 

nests  are  on  every  side:  still  he  shuns  them  all  and 
makes  his  own.  You  find  it  far  up  the  branches  of  the 
oak,  more  so  probably  than  any  other  forest  tree  ;  in  the 
gloomy  fir  woods  he  makes  his  cradle  also  ;  while  not 
unfrequently  the  alder,  towering  to  the  height  of  sixty 
feet  or  more,  bordering  the  stream  flowing  through  the 
forest,  is  destined  to  bear  his  eggs.  It  is  not  a  very 
large  structure,  and  from  the  appearance  below  you 
would  often  take  it  for  a  mere  lodgment  of  sticks,  and 
not  the  home  of  a  bird.  It  is  invariably  placed  close 
to  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  rarely  in  a  crotch,  merely 
lying  on  some  broad  limb,  and  firmly  backed  by  the 
stem.  It  is  made  of  dry  sticks,  nothing  more,  save  in- 
deed a  few  pieces  of  bark,  and  probably  a  little  down 
from  its  feathered  prey  ;  or  if  incubation  is  advanced, 
numbers  of  pellets,  the  refuse  of  the  bird's  food.  If  in 
the  fir  woods  the  branches  of  that  tree  are  used  alone, 
the  withered  ones  being  preferred,  although  we  ofttimes- 
see  one  or  two  living  sprays  mingled  amongst  them,  their 
bright  green  opening  buds  contrasting  richly  with  the 
dull  sober  colours  of  the  decayed  ones.  The  eggs  of 
the  Sparrowhawk  are  four  or  five  in  number,  and  very 
beautiful  objects.  Their  ground  colour  is  a  pale 
greenish-blue,  and  the  markings  are  of  a  rich  reddish- 
brown,  sometimes  approaching  to  black.  They  vary 
considerably  in  markings :  some  are  almost  spotless, 
others  so  boldly  and  richly  marked  as  to  hide  the 
ground  colour,  while  on  many  the  colouring  matter  is 
all  collected  on  the  larger  end,  and  forming  a  zone. 
You  may  remove  the  eggs  of  the  Sparrowhawk,  and  still 
the  bird  will  continue  laying  in  the  nest :  this  peculiarity 
is  common  to  the  Starling  and  most  other  life-paired 
birds.  The  Sparrowhawk  is  a  close  sitter,  and  will  not 
unfrequently  allow  you  to  almost  reach  the  nest  before 


THE  SPARRGWHAWK.  285 

she  quits  it.  As  is  usual  with  raptorial  birds,  the  female 
is  much  the  largest,  and,  as  a  rule,-  the  most  courageous. 
Often  has  she  brushed  my  head  with  her  wings,  and  I 
have  caught  the  savage  glare  in  her  eye  when  I  have 
been  examining  her  home.  Upon  leaving  her  nest,  no 
sound  escapes  her  as  a  rule,  although  she  sometimes 
disturbs  the  surrounding  stillness  with  a  shriek  fraught 
with  anger  and  despair.  The  young  are  fed  assiduously, 
.and  I  notice  that  when  the  birds  have  broods  depend- 
ing upon  them  they  are  more  bold  and  venturesome 
than  usual.  It  is  then  the  game  coverts  yield  their 
tribute  of  young  chicks  to  feed  the  young  of  this  bold 
courageous  bird  ;  it  is  then  the  smaller  birds  are  even 
more  sorely  pressed ;  and  it  is  then  they  will  dash 
swiftly  and  silently  into  the  poultry  yards  and  bear  off 
the  young  chicks  so  quickly.  When  the  young  reach 
maturity  they  are  abandoned  by  their  parents,  and  the 
Sparrowhawk  lives  in  the  company  of  his  mate  alone 
for  the  remainder  of  the  season. 

The  eyrie  of  the  Sparrowhawk  is  a  very  interesting 
place  ±o  visit  when  the  young  are  almost  ready  for 
flight.  Young  Sparrowhawks  exhibit  great  diversity  of 
size  and  colour.  Indeed,  there  are  seldom  two  in  the 
same  nest  alike  when  they  have  attained  their  first  suit 
of  feathers.  In  the  nest  are  pellets  and  feathers  in 
abundance — not  the  feathers  of  game  birds,  as  a  rule, 
but  usually  of  the  smaller  Finches  and  warblers,  notably 
the  Chaffinch  and  Willow  Warbler.  Animals  are  some- 
times brought,  as  the  fur  of  the  rabbit  and  the  mole  tell 
us  pretty  plainly.  A  few  days  before  the  young  gain 
the  full  use  of  their  wings  they  spend  the  greater  part 
of  their  time  upon  the  branches  of  the  tree,  flying  from 
branch  to  branch,  trying  and  strengthening  their  pinions, 
and  uttering  their  peculiar  tremulous  notes.  The  leaves 


286  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

and  branches  of  the  tree  are  white  with  their  excrements, 
but  still  little  or  no  smell  pervades  the  place.  Before 
finally  taking  wing  the  young  birds  repair  to  the  neigh- 
bouring trees,  where  for  a  few  days  longer  they  are  fed 
by  their  parents,  until  the  happy  moment  arrives  when 
they  separate,  to  roam  the  fields  and  woods  in  all  the 
pride  of  their  now  strong  and  active  pinions. 

There  is  not  a  doubt  but  that  the  Sparrowhawk  is 
a  destructive  bird,  still  there  are  points  in  his  character 
which  partially,  if  not  completely,  counterbalance  his 
ravages.  We  must  also  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  not  for 
us  to  question  the  wiseness  of  Nature  in  sending  the 
Sparrowhawk  amongst  us,  and  that  his  inroads  in  our 
game  coverts  and  poultry  yards  are  never  so  severe  as  to 
merit  our  taking  his  life.  Hawks,  Falcons,  Owls,  and 
Crows,  despised  birds  though  they  are,  have  an  import- 
ant part  to  play  in  Nature's  economy,  and  we  may  rest 
assured  that  part  is  well  and  faithfully  performed. 


THE  BARN  OWL. 

THE  Barn  Owl  is  another,  bird  attendant  on  civilisa- 
tion, and  seldom  indeed  seen  in  the  wild.  They  frequent 
the  ivied  ruins,  caves,  barns,  and  outbuildings,  church 
steeples  and  hollow  trees,  where  they  lurk  and  sleep 
during  the  day,  coming  out  at  night  time  to  feed.  A 
sorely  persecuted  bird  it  is,  partly  on  account  of  its  love 
for  night  and  darkness,  and  partly  because  it  is  thought 
to  kill  and  devour  game  and  poultry;  yet,  withal,  it  is  a 
handsome  one,  and  few  birds  are  clothed  in  more  rich 
and  varied  plumage.  The  Barn  Owl,  because  he  is  seen 
flying  over  the  churchyard  at  dusk,  and  taking  refuge  in 
the  steeple,  is  said  by  the  superstitious  villagers  to  hold 
communion  with  departed  souls,  and  his  presence  is 
looked  upon  with  terror  and  hatred.  It  is  the  bird's 


288  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

love  of  seclusion  alone  that  sends  him  to  the  ivied  belfry, 
and  he  is  quite  as  harmless  as  the  Jackdaws  who  share 
it  with  him  ;  only  the  one  is  abroad  in  daylight,  and  its 
actions  are  not  suspicious  simply  because  they  are  ob- 
servable, while  the  other's  requirements  send  him  forth 
at  a  time  when  darkness  hides  his  motions  from  view. 
This  alone  is  the  primary  cause  why  he  is  held  to  be  a 
bird  of  ill  omen,  as  is  also  the  poor,  harmless,  unoffending 
Goatsucker.  Could  Minerva  see  her  once  favourite  bird, 
deeply  grieved  would  she  feel  for  its  present  hard  and 
sorrowful  fate.  Would  that  he  haunted  the  meadows  in 
open  day,  his  bitterest  enemies  would  speedily  become 
his  staunchest  friends. 

As  I  previously  stated,  the  Barn  Owl  is  but  rarely 
seen  in  the  daytime.  He  keeps  in  his  gloomy  haunt,  in 
company  with  the  bats,  until  the  sun  has  dipped  behind 
the  western  horizon,  and  the  gloom  of  night  is  settling 
fast  around.  It  is  then  we  see  him  quit  his  favourite 
haunt,  which  is  also  invariably  his  nesting-place,  and  be- 
take himself  to  the  neighbouring  fields  and  stack-yards. 
When  the  moon  shines  brightly — although  the  presence 
of  this  orb  is  in  no  way  essential  to  his  appearance,  for  he 
is  out  on  cloudy  nights  as  well — you  can  gain  some  little 
insight  into  the  way  he  catches  his  prey.  Often  at  even- 
tide, when  strolling  under  the  branches  of  the  stately 
trees,  enshrouded  by  their  drooping  branches,  do  I  pause 
for  a  few  moments  to  watch  the  actions  of  this  bird  of 
night.  Silently  he  flits  past  me  on  almost  noiseless  wing, 
and  then,  quick  as  thought,  darts  downwards,  rising 
again  seemingly  without  effort.  His  piercing  eye,  most 
powerful  in  the  gloom,  detects  the  mouse  cowering  low 
amongst  the  herbage,  which  to  me  was  invisible.  Now 
he  visits  the  higher  air,  and  his  wild,  weird-like  shriek 
marks  out  his  wandering  course.  Now  loud  and  shrill 


THE   BARN   OWL.  289 

above  my  head,  startling  me  by  its  nearness  ;  and  anon, 
in  the  distance,  faint,  like  the  far-off  scream  of  a  person 
in  distress.  He  continues  feeding  and  flying  over  the 
fields,  and  coursing  round  the  ruined  and  dismantled 
towers,  occasionally  alighting,  until  the  first  streak  of 
light  heralds  the  coming  day,  when  he  leaves  the  fields 
to  the  Windhover  Hawk,  and  retires  to  his  favourite  hole, 
there  to  digest  his  food  in  dark  and  moody  silence,  until 
the  sun  has  performed  his  allotted  journey  through  the 
heavens.  The  Barn  Owl  is,  however,  sometimes  seen 
abroad  in  the  daytime,  having  been  disturbed  in  his 
haunt,  for  probably  it  is  very  rare  indeed  that  he  quits 
it  voluntarily  in  the  light  of  day.  From  some  unex- 
plained cause  this  bird  seems  to  be  disliked  and  mobbed 
by  every  bird  of  day.  His  appearance  is  the  signal  for 
a  general  uproar  :  the  Rook  will  chase  him  through  the 
heavens  ;  the  Sparrows,  and  even  the  little  Titmice, 
who  would  shrink  and  cower  low  in  mortal  fear  if  he 
came  surrounded  by  darkness,  now  peck  him  and  harass 
him  unceasingly.  The  poor.  Owl  seems  fully  aware  of 
the  mistake  he  has  made,  and  seldom  retaliates  :  his 
only  aim  is  to  seek  a  place  of  seclusion,  for  he  seems 
well  aware  his  only  safety  is  in  the  darkness. 

The  Barn  Owl  remains  in  pairs  the  year  throughout, 
although  they  seldom  commence  nesting  before  May. 
Nature  has  not  intended  this  bird  to  figure  as  a  nest 
builder  ;  she  provides  it  with  a  bed  in  another  way.  The 
hole  which  the  birds  frequent  throughout  the  year  for 
nesting  and  roosting  becomes  filled  with  pellets,  formed 
of  the  refuse  of  the  birds'  food,  and  upon  these  pellets 
the  eggs  are  laid — just  as  is  the  case  with  the  Windhover 
Hawk.  Three  or  four  in  number,  sometimes  only  two, 
they  are  about  the  size  of  a  Pigeon's  egg,  white  and 
spotless,  but  the  shell  is  rough  and  without  gloss. 

U 


29o  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


Both  birds  sit  upon  the  eggs,  and  should  you  approach 
them  when  sitting,  they  will  hiss  and  snap  their  beaks, 
to  manifest  their  displeasure  at  your  intrusion.  Young 
Barn  Owls  look  like  animated  balls  of  down,  with  two 
laige  black  beads  for  eyes.  They  are  voracious  feeders, 
too,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  frequent  visits  of  the  old 
birds  with  food. 

If  you  should  happen  to  know  of  an  Owl's  nest,  stand 
some  evening  near  it  when  the  old  birds  are  rearing 
their  young,  keep  quiet  and  motionless,  and  notice  how 
frequently  the  old  birds  feed  them.  Every  ten  minutes 
or  so  the  soft  flap  flap  of  their  wings  will  be  heard,  the 
male  and  female  alternately,  and  you  will  obtain  a  brief 
glimpse  of  them  through  the  gloom  as  they  enter  the 
nesting-place.  They  remain  inside  but  a  short  time, 
sharing  the  food  equally  amongst  their  brood,  and  then 
are  off  again  to  hunt  for  more.  All  night,  were  you  to 
have  the  inclination  to  observe  them,  you  would  find 
they  pass  to  and  fro  with  food,  only  ceasing  their  labours 
at  dawn.  The  young  as  soon  as  they  reach  maturity  are 
abandoned  by  their  parents  ;  they  quit  the  nest  and  seek 
out  haunts  elsewhere  ;  while  the  old  birds  rear  another, 
and  not  unfrequently  two  more  broods,  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  season. 

The  food  of  the  Barn  Owl  is  composed  chiefly  of  the 
various  species  of  field  mice,  the  larger  kinds  of  night- 
flying  beetles,  and  he  will  also  occasionally  snatch  a 
benighted  Finch  or  Warbler  from  the  hedgerows,  and 
take  tne  rats  from  old  water-courses  and  stack-yards.  So 
that  after  all  he  is  not  such  a  pilfering,  useless  creature 
as  is  so  generally  imagined.  Think,  I  pray  you,  what 
mischief  the  countless  mice  and  rats  would  work,  were 
they  left  unmolested.  There  would  scarcely  be  a  rick 
free  from  them,  despite  all  the  '  vermin  killers '  extant 


THE  BARN  OWL.  291 


and  the  young  sapling  trees  in  the  hedgerows  would  be 
completely  barked  ;  for  nothing  suits  the  field  mouse 
better  than  to  gnaw  the  bark  away,  invariably  causing- 
the  death  of  the  tree.  •  Then,  too,  the  beetles  he  devours 
prevents  them  increasing  too  rapidly,  and  checks  the 
quantity  of  their  destructive  larvae,  which  prey  so  dis- 
astrously on  our  grass  lands,  cereal,  and  root-  crops ; 
while  the  birds  he  takes  are  few,  and  certainly  never 
missed.  The  pellets  he  ejects  proclaim  his  usefulness ; 
for  if  you  examine  one  of  them  you  find  it  contains  the 
larger  bones  and  skins  of  several  mice,  or  portions  of  the 
skin  of  the  rat,  mingled  with  the  hard  wing  cases  of 
beetles,  and  but  rarely  with  feathers:  These  pellets,  if 
the  bird  has  used  the  cavity  for  some  time,  occur  in 
incredible  numbers,  and  silently  speak  of  his  sovereign 
usefulness  to  gardener,  agriculturist,  and  landowner 
alike  ;  for  there  is  not  a  bird  of  prey  in  Britain  more 
harmless  in  its  character.  Instead  of  persecution,  he 
claims  and  demands  our  warmest  protection,  for  he  is 
indeed  one  of  Nature's  grandest  conservators. 

The  Barn  Owl,  upon  the  authority  of  the  well-known 
Mr.  Waterton,  is  a  first-rate  fisherman,  and  takes  his 
prey  from  the  waters  like  the  Kingfisher,  namely,  by  a 
sudden  plunge.  Extraordinary  as  this  may  appear,  still 
I  think  were  the  bird,  encouraged  by  our  protection,  to 
take  his  prey  in  daylight  a  little  more  frequently,  this 
peculiarity  would  be  far  more  frequently  observed.  I 
do  not  doubt  for  a  moment  but  what  this  bird  feeds  re- 
gularly upon  fish  when  the  opportunity  is  offered,  but 
they  are  for  the  most  part  captured  under  the  cover  of 
darkness.  Dissection  of  the  pellets  thrown  up  by  birds 
in  favourable  localities,  would,  however,  place  this  matter 
beyond  a  doubt. 


THE   RING   DOVE. 

THE  Ring  Dove,  Wood  Pigeon,  or  Cushat,  as  he  is 
variously  known,  is  the  only  member  of  the  Pigeon  tribe 
found  commonly  in  the  inland  woods  and  fields.  He  is 
the  largest,  too,  of  his  order,  and  his  varied  and  beauti- 
fully blended  plumage  and  fine  form  make  him  a  bird 
ranking  as  one  of  the  finest  ornaments  of  the  woodland 
districts.  His  upper  parts  are  slaty-blue,  and  the  breast 
and  under  parts  are  of  a  delicate  warm  pink ;  on  the 
sides  of  his  neck  are  a  few  white  feathers,  from  which  he 
gains  the  title  of  '  Ring '  Dove :  this  ring,  however,  is 
not  seen  in  the  young  birds,  and  is  a  mark  of  maturity 
alone.  The  Ring  Dove  frequents  the  woodland  districts 
and  the  neighbouring  fields.  While  the  Turtle  Dove 
keeps  to  the  deepest  woodland  solitudes,  and  rarely  seeks 


THE  RING  DOVE.  293 

the  fields  and  open  places,  the  Ring  Dove  is  perhaps  as 
often  seen  out  of  the  woods  as  in  them,  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  year  at  least ;  and  though  a  wary  bird,  like 
the  Stormcock,  it  is  not  what  we  can  call  a  shy  one. 

The  love  note  of  the  Ring  Dove  sounds  particularly 
soothing  and  pleasant  as  we  wander  through  the  other- 
wise almost  silent  woods,  just  as  they  are  about  to  don 
their  leafy  vestures  under  the  gentle  influence  of  an 
April  sun.  If  the  birds  be  abundant,  their  low  and 
plaintive  note,  coo-oo-oo,  coo-oo-oo,  fills  the  entire  forest 
with  its  murmur ;  and  yet  so  wary  are  the  birds  at  this 
period,  that  we  seldom  or  never  get  a  sight  of  them,  evert 
though  their  notes  are  heard  close  at  hand.  Gentle, 
indeed,  as  the  Dove  is  thought  to  be,  still  this  does  not 
hold  good  in  the  mating  season,  for  two  male  birds  will 
often  fight  with  fury  for  the  possession  of  a  female. 
But  these  encounters  are  only  between  young  or  single 
birds,  for  I  am  satisfied  that  the  Ring  Dove  does  not 
separate  when  the  young  reach  maturity,  and  will,  if  un- 
molested, breed  in  one  certain  locality  for  years.  Again, 
where  the  birds  are  not  plentiful,  and  this  matter  can  be 
more  readily  studied,  I  find  that  the  Ring  Dove  invari- 
ably flies  in  pairs,  and  remains  in  pairs  the  winter 
through.  When  the  birds  flock,  however,  which  they 
frequently  do  in  thousands,  we  cannot  readily  observe 
this.  A  pair  of  Ring  Doves  have  bred  here  for  years  in 
a  group  of  whitethorn  trees,  and  frequent  the  district  in 
company  all  the  winter,  seldom,  indeed,  straying  far 
away. 

The  Ring  Dove  is  another  bird  often  coming  near 
man's  dwelling  for  the  purpose  of  rearing  its  young  ;  yet, 
once  that  duty  accomplished,  they  leave  us  and  repair  to 
the  woods  and  fields,  and  shun  our  presence  with  a  per- 


294  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 

tinacity  for  which  at  present  we  are  totally  at  a  loss  to 
account. 

A  favourite  situation  for  the  Ring  Dove  is  in  the 
plantations  of  young  firs,  and  there  they  build  their  nests 
in  great  plenty.  We  also  see  its  rude  and  shallow  nest 
in  almost  every  forest  tree,  sometimes  in  the  hedgerows, 
and  not  unfrequently  in  the  yew  or  holly.  But  if  placed 
in  the  forest  tree,  the  site  is  invariably  found  to  be  on  a 
flat  branch,  the  nest  being  usually  built  close  to  the  trunk. 
In  the  branches  of  the  yew  or  holly  it  is  built  more  at 
the  end  of  the  branches,  for  there  it  can  find  the  best 
support.  Rude  indeed  is  the  nest  of  the  Ring  Dove  : 
nothing  more  than  a  platform  of  twigs,,  through  which 
the  eggs  can  readily  be  seen,  put  carelessly  together 
seemingly  without  form  and  purpose.  Yet  if  we  examine 
this  rude  cradle  we  find  it  not  so  poorly  made  after  all, 
and  then  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  the  future  young 
will  aid  considerably  in  its  construction. 

The  excrements  of  birds  of  the  Pigeon  tribe  are  of  a 
peculiar  nature  and  without  smell,  and  these  excrements 
are  never  removed  from  the  nest,  as  is  the  case  with  the 
Starling,  for  instance,  but  are  suffered  to  remain.  They 
soon  harden  on  being  exposed  to  the  air,  and,  combined 
with  the  platform  of  sticks,  form  a  structure  strong  and 
durable  for  the  young  birds  to  inhabit  until  their  pinions 
can  bear  them  through  the  air. 

The  eggs  of  the  Ring  Dove  are  two  in  number,  in 
some  few  rare  cases  only  one,  somewhat  small  for  the 
size  of  the  bird,  although  they  vary  considerably  in  this 
particular,  of  a  pure  shining  and  spotless  white.  This 
bird  is  a  very  wary  one  when  sitting,  and  leaves  her 
charge  long  before  the  intruder  approaches,  doubtless 
impelled  by  instinct  so  to  do,  for  her  presence  would 
only  contribute  to  the  discovery  of  the  nest,  which  with- 


THE  RING  DOVE.  295 


out  her  is  comparatively  safe  in  its  leafy  site,  for  to  the 
casual  eye  it  appears  nothing  more  than  a  lodgment  of 
dry  sticks  accumulated  there  by  accident  during  the 
gales  of  the  previous  winter. 

When  the  two  young  are  hatched  the  efforts  of  the 
old  birds  are  taxed  to  the  utmost  to  supply  them  with 
food,  for  judging  from  the  times  the  parent  birds  visit 
the  nest,  they  are  voracious  feeders.  Almost  as  regularly 
as  the  Rook,  we  see  the  old  Ring  Doves  passing  rapidly 
through  the  air  to  and  from  the  nest.  They  do  not  feed 
them  like  other  birds,  as  the  Thrush  or  the  Warbler,  but 
from  the  crop,  the  young  drawing  their  sustenance  from 
the  bill  of  the  parent,  which  sustenance  is  of  a  pulpy 
nature.  The  young  Ring  Doves  advance  to  maturity 
somewhat  slowly ;  but,  once  able  to  fly,  they  are 
abandoned  by  their  parents,  who '  often  have  another* 
sometimes  two  more  broods  in  the  season,  though,  as  far 
as  I  can  learn,  not  in  the  same  nest.  As  an  instance  of 
the  late  breeding  of  this  species  I  may  mention  that  I 
have  met  with  young  birds  in  the  middle  of  November 
which  have  certainly  not  left  the  nest  more  than  ten  days 
or  a  fortnight  at  most. 

Ring  Doves  are  gregarious  in  the  autumn  and  winter 
months.  At  these  times  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to 
observe  them  in  immense  flocks  on  the  stubbles  or  turnip 
fields.  In  such  numbers  do  these  birds  occur,  that  I 
am  led  to  believe  that  this  bird  is  partially  migratory, 
and  augmented  in  numbers  in  the  late  autumn  months. 
When  we  bear  in  mind  the  small  number  of  the  birds 
produced  at  once,  and  the  incessant  plundering  of  their 
nests,  both  when  they  contain  eggs  and  when  the  young 
are  almost  ready  for  flight,  we  are  forced  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  large  number  of  birds  seen  in  autumn 
and  winter  are  birds  from  other  localities,  it  may  be 


296  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

distant  ones,  wandering  no  doubt  from  one  district  to 
another  in  search  of  food,  their  numbers  increasing  as 
they  go.  The  Ring  Dove  often  roosts  in  the  branches 
of  the  evergreens,  and  sometimes  in  the  fir  plantations. 
As  the  sun  is  just  about  to  disappear  behind  the  horizon, 
tipping  the  clouds  with  gold  and  filling  the  western  sky 
with  bewitching  colours,  I  often  pause  and  watch  these 
birds  retire  to  rest.  As  they  fly  over  my  head,  their 
flapping  wings  fill  the  air  with  pleasant  sounds.  Silently, 
though  on  strong  and  rapid  pinions,  they  wing  their  way, 
spread  hither  and  thither  as  they  near  the  roosting  place, 
and,  alighting  in  little  parties  in  different  parts  of  the 
trees,  settle  down  to  rest.  If  October's  month  has  waned 
the  birds  are  silent,  for  they  lose  their  notes  early  in 
that  month,  not  to  regain  them  till  the  following  spring. 

It  has  often  been  asserted  that  the  Ring  Dove  is  the 
original  species  from  which  our  endless  varieties  of  Dove- 
cot Pigeons  have  descended  ;  but  here  I  think  is  an 
incontestable  proof  of  the  fallacy  of  this  belief.  The 
domestic  Pigeon,  although  it  often  perches  on  trees,  has 
perhaps  never  in  one  single  instance  been  known  to 
roost  in  them.  Further,  by  no  artifice  yet  discovered 
can  we  completely  domesticate  the  Ring  Dove,  or  tempt 
him  to  breed  in  confinement.  A  bird  of  the  forest,  he 
defies  our  every  effort,  and  no  doubt  a  bird  of  the  forest 
he  will  remain  as  long  as  his  race  exists,  delighting  in 
its  freedom,  and  rearing  his  young  untrammelled  by  the 
servitude  of  man  in  its  arboreal  depths,  free  as  air,  and 
untamable  as  the  winds  of  heaven. 

The  food  of  the  Ring  Dove  is  confined  for  the  most 
part  to  vegetable  matter,  peas,  beans,  lintels,  grain,  and 
small  seeds  of  various  kinds.  They  are  voracious  feeders, 
too,  their  crops  often  containing  upwards  of  two  ounces 
of  various  seeds.  They  frequent  the  newly  sown  land 


THE  RING  DOVE.  297 

and  prey  upon  the  seed  grain  ;  they  search*  under  the 
oak  trees  for  acorns,  and  under  the  beech  trees  for  the 
mast,  sometimes  feeding  in  the  branches  ;  they  frequent 
the  stubbles  in  autumn  and  pick  up  the  scattered  grain, 
also  eating  the  tender  heart  shoots  of  the  clover ;  they 
feed  upon  the  growing  turnip  plants,  and  in  keen 
weather  when  the  snow  lies  deep  they  will  make  a  meal 
on  the  turnips  themselves.  There  is  not  a  doubt  but 
what  the  Ring  Dove,  yearly  increasing  in  numbers  as  it 
is,  is  a  bird  destructive  to  the  farmers'  crops.  But  the 
case  is  analogous  with  that  of  the  domestic  Sparrow. 
Could  we  restore  the  sorely  persecuted  Buzzard  Hawk 
to  its  woodland  haunts,  or  encourage  the  Harrier  and  the 
Peregrine  Falcon  and  the  Goshawk  to  live  once  more  in 
our  company,  we  should  then  have  little  room  for  com- 
plaint :  the  Ring  Doves  would  be  kept  in  bounds,  and 
the  Falcons  would  be  in  their  proper  sphere,  and  all 
would  be  well.  But  as  there  is  little  chance  of  seeing 
the  larger  birds  of  prey  again  in  any  numbers,  I  fear  we 
shall  have  to  put  up  with  the  evil,  and  thank  our  game 
preservers  for  upsetting  the  balance  Nature  so  beautifully 
ordained.  Yet  withal  the  Ring  Dove  has  some  few  good 
points  in  his  favour ;  for  when  we  examine  the  contents 
of  his  crop,  we  ofttimes  find,  besides  grain,  the  seeds  of 
noxious  weeds,  as  the  charlock  and  dock,  and  his  flesh 
also  forms  a  wholesome  article  of  food. 


298  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


THE  PHEASANT. 

WE  shall  probably  never  know  the  exact  time  the 
Pheasant  was  introduced  into  Britain.  But  certain  it 
is  he  is  now  fully  naturalised  amongst  us,  and  roams  the 
woods  and  fields  with  as  much  ease  and  freedom  as  his 
native  jungles  of  the  East ;  for  we  are  told  that  his  home 
is  in  the  ancient  kingdom  of  Colchis,  on  the  eastern 
shores  of  the  Black  Sea.  A  bird  of  rare  beauty,  he 
frequents  the  woods  and  plantations,  and,  where  the 
hedgerows  afford  sufficient  shelter,  the  fields.  He  some- 
times frequents  the  scrubby  birch  plantations  and  fir 
woods  on  the  borders  of  the  wild  ;  but  the  place  he 
loveth  best  is  in  the  richer  and  well-cultivated  tracts  of 
country. 

The  Pheasant  is  subject  to  much  variation  in 
plumage  ;  but  curiously  enough  these  variations  are  for 
the  most  part  confined  to  the  male  birds.  The  female 
will,  however,  sometimes  assume  the  plumage  of  the 
male,  yet  when  this  does  occur  she  is  never  known  to 
breed.  We  sometimes  see  them  pure  white,  or  white 
mottled  with  their  rich  and  splendid  general  plumage. 
There  is  also  a  permanent  variety  known  as  the  Ring- 
necked  Pheasant,  having  the  rich  plumage  of  the  neck, 
encircled  with  a  band  of  feathers  of  snowy  whiteness  : 
the  female  bird  however  never  exhibits  this  peculiarity. 
Like  most  showy  birds,  the  male  Pheasant  delights  to 


PHEASANT. 


THE  PHEASANT.  299 

frequent  the  densest  cover,  is  shy  and  timid,  and  hides 
his  rich  and  varied  charms  in  solitude. 

So  carefully  is  the  Pheasant  preserved  for  the  sport 
it  yields,  and  so  tame  and  semi-domesticated  has  it 
become  in  some  places  through  the  protection  afforded 
it,  that  we  can  scarcely  deem  it  a  wild  bird  in  this 
country,  or  view  its  habits  as  strictly  normal.  True,  he 
has  that  in  his  nature  which  defies  our  efforts  to  com- 
pletely domesticate  him,  an  inherent  timidity,  which 
sends  him  into  cover  upon  the  slightest  alarm,  in  spite 
of  the  protection  and  safety  with  which  he  is  surrounded. 
There  are,  however,  many  places  where  the  Pheasant 
roams  wild  and  almost  uncared  for,  and  there  I  intend 
you  to  stray  and  study  his  habits-1- places  where,  left  to 
himself,  he  doubtless  displays  a  near  approach  to  those 
habits  and  instincts  which  his  kindred  do  in  their  Eastern 
solitudes. 

The  Pheasant  spends  by  far  the  greater  part  of  his 
time  on  the  ground,  searching  for  food,  much  after  the 
manner  of  domestic  poultry.  When  all  is  quiet  in  early 
morning,  or  when  the  sun  is  approaching  the  western 
horizon,  the  Pheasant  quits  his  cover  and  repairs  to  the 
neighbouring  fields  in  search  of  food  ;  although  where 
the  herbage  is  tall  and  dense  he  will  remain  amongst  it 
throughout  the  day,  only  quitting  it  at  nightfall  for  his 
roosting  place.  His  food  is  varied,  composed  of  grain, 
insects,  worms,  tender  shoots  of  many  kinds,  and  various 
small  seeds  and  berries,  notably  those  of  the  elder  ;  and 
as  you  stroll  through  the  woods  in  autumn  you  will 
often  see  him  in  the  open  glades,  feeding  upon  the  acorns 
and  beech  mast.  Should  it  be  a  male  bird,  he  invari- 
ably runs  off  at  your  approach,  for  the  Pheasant  is  a 
bird  that  only  takes  wing  when  absolutely  compelled  ; 
but  if  a  female,  she  will  probably  crouch  close  to  the 


300  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

earth  and  remain  motionless,  her  colours  blending  so 
beautifully  with  the  withered  leaves  that. she  is  com- 
paratively safe.  Should  you  chance  to  direct  your  at- 
tention towards  her,  she  will  start  suddenly  up,  and,  run- 
ning rapidly  through  the  intricacies  of  the  undergrowth, 
is  speedily  lost  to  view.  This  crouching  at  the  approach 
of  danger  is  common  to  many  birds,  but  in  none  that  I 
am  acquainted  with  does  it  occur  to  such  a  marked 
degree  as  in  the  present  species.  I  have  often  watched 
female  Pheasants  feeding,  when  my  presence  has  been 
unknown  to  them,  and  noticed  how  quickly  they  crouch 
to  the  ground  when  a  distant  footfall  or  even  the  snap- 
ping of  a  branch  is  heard. 

When  night  is  about  to  wrap  the  woods  in  its  folds, 
and  you  hear  the  discordant  scream  of  the  Jay  and  the 
harsh  chatter  of  the  Magpie  previous  to  settling  down  to 
rest,  you  hear  the  Pheasant  crow.  Not  like  the  dunghill 
fowl,  but  in  one  loud  and  dissonant  scream.  Crow 
succeeds  crow,  and  then  you  may  rest  assured  the 
Pheasants  are  about  to  seek  a  roosting  place,  which  is 
usually  in  the  shelter  of  the  evergreens  in  autumn  and 
winter,  although  many  birds  roost  on  the  ground  in  the 
former  season,  or  in  the  other  trees,  notably  the  silver 
birch,  and  larch  in  summer.  If  in  your  wanderings  you 
should  chance  to  pass  the  place  where  a  male  is  roosting, 
and  happen  to  disturb  him,  he  at  once  betrays  his  pre- 
sence by  crowing  long  and  loud,  and  then  flies  rapidly 
off,  to  pass  the  remainder  of  the  night  on  the  ground. 

The  Pheasant  lives  a  solitary  life,  save  in  the  short  pair- 
ing season,  which  takes  place  in  April  or  May.  It  is  also  a 
polygamous  species,  and  we  often  see  as  many  as  five  or 
six  females  in  the  company  of  one  male.  In  the  pairing 
season  combats  are  of  frequent  occurrence  between  the 
males  for  the  possession  of  the  females.  The  male  bird 


THE   PHEASANT.  301 

remains  in  the  company  of  his  mates  for  a  short  period, 
and  then  betakes  himself  to  his  life  of  solitude  again, 
leaving  the  female  to  bring  up  her  family  alone.  This  is 
perhaps  a  wise  provision  of  Nature,  unnatural  as  it  may 
appear,  for  his  presence  near  them  would  only  aid  in 
the  discovery  of  the  nest,  and  the  female  birds  are  fully 
competent  to  fulfil  the  duties  falling  upon  them.  The 
females  separate,  although  in  some  instances  where  the 
birds  are  well  preserved  two  females  will  share  the  same 
nest,  as  is  sometimes  the  case  with  domestic  poultry,  and 
each  seeks  out  a  fitting  place  for  her  home,  under  the 
brambles,  amongst  bracken,  or  in  the  withered  grass 
up  the  hedgerow  side.  Her  nest  is  merely  a  cavity 
scratched  out  and  lined  with  a  few  leaves,  dry  grass,  or 
fern  ;  and  her  eggs  are  as  unobtrusive  as  herself,  deep 
brown  or  olive-green  of  different  shades.  They  are 
rather  smaller  than  the  eggs  of  domestic  poultry,  are 
subject  to  much  variation  in  size,  and  from  ten  to  twenty 
in  number.  I  once  knew  of  a  Pheasant  who  had  the 
extraordinary  number  of  twenty-six  eggs,  nearly  all  of 
which  hatched  satisfactorily.  When  the  bird  leaves  her 
eggs  to  search  for  food,  invariably  in  early  morning  and 
evening,  she  covers  her  eggs  carefully  with  leaves  or  any 
other  material  with  which  her  nest  is  surrounded,  thus 
shielding  her  eggs  from  view.  When  she  is  at  home  her 
own  sober  plumage  harmonizes  closely  with  the  surround- 
ings, and  forms  the  chief  protection  both  for  herself  and 
her  charge.  When  leaving  her  nest,  too,  she  is  wariness 
itself,  and  flies  from  it  always,  returning  in  the  same  man- 
ner, thus  leaving  no  scent  which  the  vigilant  weasel  can 
follow,  or  track  which  man  can  read. 

It  is  not  often  all  the  eggs  prove  fertile,  and  when 
the  young  are  hatched  she  leads  them  and  shelters  them 
under  her  wings,  just  as  our  own  domestic  hen  tends  her 


302  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


brood.  Should  ants'  nests  be  at  hand,  she  leads  them 
thither  and  unearths  the  eggs  for  them.  The  young 
advance  to  maturity  somewhat  slowly,  and  are  seldom 
strong  on  the  wing  before  the  latter  end  of  July,  some- 
times much  later,  according  to  the  time  they  were 
hatched.  I  am  of  opinion  that  but  one  brood  is  reared 
in  the  year,  and  the  female  and  her  young  sometimes 
remain  in  company  until  the  following  spring. 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  slaughter  of  these  hand- 
some birds  in  the  autumn  and  winter  months  ;  how, 
after  they  are  fed  and  tended  with  the  greatest  care,  they 
are  slain  in  thousands,  and  how  this  cruelty  is  shrouded 
under  the  name  of  a  grand  battue  ;  for  the  description  of 
such  scenes  is  at  variance  with  my  object,  which  is 
only  to  treat  with  the  life  histories  of  birds  in  ferd 
naturd  (which  are  of  little  interest  to  the  naturalist, 
though  looked  forward  to  by  the  sportsman  as  days  of 
keenest  enjoyment). 


THE  PARTRIDGE  AND   QUAIL. 

THE  Partridge  is  another  game  bird,  and,  like  most 
birds  to  whom  protection  is  afforded,  one  of  common 
occurrence.  We  must  not,  however,  seek  him  on  the 
barren  moor — there  our  search  would  be  but  poorly  re- 
warded ;  nor  must  we  look  for  him  in  the  woods,  for 
probably  not  a  glimpse  of  him  should  we  get  But  on 
the  smiling  fields  he  nestles  close  amongst  the  herbage. 
Where  the  rich  stubbles  and  clover  fields  abound, 
bordered  with  low  and  tangled  hedgerows,  he  finds  a 
home  suitable  to  his  terrestrial  habits  ;  for  be  it  known 
the  Partridge,  although  his  feet  differ  not  in  their 
anatomy  from  the  Pheasant,  is  a  bird  never  known  to 
perch  in  trees  :  on  the  ground  he  lives  exclusively,  roost- 
ing upon  it,  and  obtaining  his  sustenance  and  rearing 
his  young  upon  it  likewise. 


304  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


Like  most  ground  birds,  the  Partridge  is  a  skulking 
species,  and  will  prefer  to  crouch  low  and  motionless  until 
almost  trodden  upon.  He  then  rises  suddenly,  and  on 
whirring  wing,  now  sailing,  now  flapping,  flies  it  may  be 
over  several  fields  ere  alighting,  his  deep  brown  upper 
plumage  contrasting  richly  with  the  yellow  stubbles  or 
the  deep  green  of  the  clover.  The  Partridge  pairs  very 
early  in  the  year — that  is  to  say,  the  birds  hatched  in  the 
previous  season,  for  I  hazard  the  conjecture  that  this 
bird  remains  in  pairs  for  life.  At  all  seasons  they  may 
be  seen  in  pairs,  and  doubtless  when  their  life  history  is 
better  known  this  matter  will  be  fully  confirmed.  The 
first  sign  the  Partridge  gives  us  of  his  coming  nesting 
season  is  in  his  voice.  By  the  latter  end  of  April,  as  we 
wander  over  the  fields  at  eventide,  we  are  often  startled 
by  a  peculiar  cry,  it  may  be  close  at  hand  or  even  several 
fields  away,  and  can  only  be  compared  to  a  snatch  of 
idiotic  laughter.  Cry  after  cry  is  heard,  and  if  we 
remain  still  we  shall  probably  see  the  author  of  it 
advancing  through  the  shadows  in  short  stages,  uttering 
it  as  he  comes,  and,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  or  the  last 
streaks  of  the  parting  day,  we  are  enabled  to  recognise 
him  as  the  Partridge.  This  peculiar  note  is  his  love  song, 
with  which  he  serenades  his  mate  right  through  the 
laying  and  hatching  season.  Should  we  hear  it,  how- 
ever, in  the  late  summer  months,  the  sportsman  will  tell 
us  that  it  bodes  him  no  good,  for  in  nine  cases  out  often 
the  brood  of  the  year  has  been  unfortunate. 

The  nest  of  the  Partridge  is  made  in  May,  some- 
times not  until  the  beginning  of  June.  The  female  bird 
merely  scratches  out  a  cavity,  and  lines  it  with  a  few 
leaves  and  bits  of  withered  herbage.  It  is  often  made 
down  the  hedgerow  sides,  in  the  ditches,  sometimes 
amongst  growing  corn  or  clover,  and  not  unfrequently 


THE  PARTRIDGE  AND   QUAIL.  305 


in  the  most  exposed  situations.  The  eggs,  in  colour, 
exactly  resemble  those  of  the  Pheasant,  but  are  only 
half  the  size.  Although  the  Partridge  is  not  a  poly- 
gamous bird,  still  its  eggs,  like  those  of  game  birds  in 
general,  are  large  in  number.  It  is  no  unfrequent  thing 
to  find  twenty  eggs,  while  twelve  and  eighteen  are  of 
common  occurrence.  I  consider  it  doubtful  whether  the 
birds  lay  again  if  their  first  clutch  is  destroyed  ;  but  the 
matter  is  hard  to  learn,  as  we  have  no  means  of  identify- 
ing the  birds.  Colour  is  the  Partridge's  protective  power, 
and  notice  how  closely  her  plumage  corresponds  with 
the  colours  of  the  surroundings,  made  even  more  effectual 
in  the  usually  dark  situation  of  the  nest.  She  will  remain 
sitting  upon  her  eggs,  trying  her  protective  wiles  to  the 
utmost,  and  will  often  allow  you  to  stroke  her  gently 
with  the  hand.  If  rudely  disturbed  she  will  often  flutter, 
as  if  wounded,  and  with  drooping  wings  try  her  utmost 
to  lead  you  from  her  treasured  eggs.  Like  the  Pheasant, 
the  Partridge  on  leaving  home  voluntarily  covers  her 
eggs,  and  I  do  not  believe  the  male  bird  sits  upon  them 
at  all.  The  young,  however,  are  tended  by  both  parents, 
and  should  you  disturb  them,  the  old  birds  rear  and 
tumble  before  you,  or  fly  rapidly  off,  and  the  young  ones 
crouch  close  to  the  ground,  and  by  that  means  seek  to 
evade  the  danger. 

Few  things  are  more  pleasing  than  to  watch  the 
actions  of  a  brood  of  young  Partridges  and  their  parents. 
See  how  proudly  the  old  birds  w'alk  about,  and  how 
closely  the  little  ones  follow  them,  to  pick  up  the  food, 
their  low  whistling  notes  sounding  pleasantly,  and  har- 
monising with  the  whole  scene.  Notice  how  every  few 
moments  the  old  birds  look  warily  around,  and  as  the 
wandering  Hawk  glides  swiftly  across  the  sky,  observe  how, 
with  a  warning  note,  she  gathers  them  beneath  her  wings, 

X 


306  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


or  causes  them  to  crouch  to  the  earth,  silent  and  motion- 
less as  marble.  Months  elapse  ere  the  young  birds  gain 
the  full  use  of  their  wings',  and  the  entire  brood  and 
their  parents  invariably  keep  together  until  the  follow- 
ing mating  season. 

The  Partridge  roosts  on  the  ground  :  if  it  be  in  the 
autumn  and  winter  months  the  entire  covey  roost  together, 
invariably  forming  a  circle,  with  their  heads  outwards. 
Should  danger  then  approach,  no  matter  in  what  direc- 
tion, the  birds  are  always  ready  to  receive  it.  The  alarm 
note  sounds,  and  the  birds  either  crouch  low  and  motion- 
less, or  separate  and  fly  quickly  off,  not  to  again  unite 
until  daylight  returns.  Despite  all  their  vigilance,  I  fear 
the  rat  and  the  weasel  make  sad  havoc  in  their  ranks. 

The  Partridge  becomes  social  in  the  autumn  and 
winter,  yet  not  what  we  can  call  gregarious.  Covey  joins 
covey,  and  if  not  molested  these  packs  will  keep  in  com- 
pany, feeding  and  roosting  together.  It  is,  however, 
only  where  the  bird  occurs  in  large  numbers  that  these 
gatherings  are  seen,  for  as  far  as  I  can  learn  it  is  not  a 
migratory  or  even  a  wandering  species.  There  'are  parts 
of  the  day  when  the  partridge  is  inactive,  crouching  low 
in  the  herbage  and  basking  in  the  sun.  These  times  are 
in  the  middle  of  the  day  ;  and  at  morning  and  evening 
the  bird  seeks  its  food — it  has  no  other  cause  for  activity, 
save  in  the  breeding  season.  In  the  autumn  months 
Partridges  delight  to  nestle  close  in  the  grass  fields,  and 
at  feeding  time  repair  to  the  neighbouring  stubbles  :  they 
will  also  remain  the  greater  part  of  the  day  amongst 
turnips,  on  whose  tender  shoots  they  sometimes  feed. 

Were  you  to  examine  the  Partridge  in  the  hot  months 
of  the  year,  you  would  probably  find  vast  quantities  of 
parasites  amongst  its  plumage,  and  this  doubtless  is  the 
reason  the  birds  are  so  addicted  to  dusting  themselves. 


THE  PARTRIDGE  AND  QUAIL.  307 

Wherever  a  dusty  place  occurs  in  their  haunts  the  birds 
frequent  it,  generally  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  when  the 
sun  shines  the  hottest.  There  you  may  see  them  flutter- 
ing and  rolling  in  the  dust,  and  cleansing  their  feathers 
with  their  beak  and  claws.  When  finished,  they  either 
betake  themselves  to  the  feeding  grounds  or  run  into  the 
dense  herbage. 

The  food  of  the  Partridge  in  the  earlier  months  of  the 
year  is  composed  of  the  tender  shoots  of  herbage  ;  it  also 
feeds  on  the  newly  sown  oats  and  other  grain.  As  the 
year  passes  on  this  fare  is  varied  by  insects,  beetles,  and 
grubs.  When  the  young  are  newly  hatched,  and  ant-hills 
are  near,  the  old  birds  lead  their  young  to  them,  to  feed 
on  the  eggs.  In  the  autumn  months  the  stubbles  are 
visited  for  the  grain  and  tender  shoots  of  clover ;  black- 
berries growing  round  the  hedges  are  also  eaten  in 
considerable  numbers,  as  are  also  many  kinds  of  small 
seeds. 

The  Quail  is  a  much  smaller  bird  than  the  Partridge, 
being  somewhere  about  the  size  of  a  Lark,  but  it  closely 
resembles  it  in  its  general  form,  although  its  plumage  is 
differently  coloured,  and  its  habits  are  widely  different. 
Quails  are  migratory  birds,  arriving  in  the  spring  and 
leaving  us  again  in  the  autumn  :  they  frequent  the  same 
localities  as  the  Partridge,  but  show  a  decided  preference 
for  the  fields  of  grovving  corn.  At  eventide,  or  early  in 
the  morning,  their  shrill  piping  calls  are  heard,  although 
the  birds  are  seldom  seen.  In  the  vernal  season  combats 
are  of  frequent  occurrence  between  rival  males. 

Unlike  the  Partridge,  the  Quail  does  not  pair,  but 
one  male  lives  in  the  company  of  several  females  until 
the  eggs  are  deposited,  when  he  quits  their  company,  like 
all  polygamous  birds,  and  leaves  the  females  to  rear  their 
broods  unaided.  The  cavity,  for  it  scarcely  deserves  tin 


3o8  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 


name  of  nest,  is  made  amongst  the  growing  corn,  or 
sometimes  in  the  meadow  grass,  and  the  eggs,  as  is  usual 
with  this  order  of  birds,  are  large  in  number.  Some 
nests  contain  as  many  as  twenty,  others  only  sixteen, 
while  a  few  nests  will  contain  but  eight  or  twelve.  I 
strongly  suspect,  however,  that  two  females  lay  in  those 
nests  which  contain  so  many  eggs.  The  eggs  are  very 
handsome  ones,  being  a  yellowish-olive  in  ground  tint, 
blotched  and  spotted  with  rich  brown  of  various  tints  : 
they  are  about  the  size.of  a  Blackbird's  egg.  The  young 
are  brought  to  maturity  under  the  care  of  the  female 
birds,  where  two  females  lay  in  one  nest  the  birds  divid- 
ing the  brood  between  them.  Quails,  like  Partridges, 
are  seldom  stirring  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  only  feeding 
in  the  morning  and  -evening,  and  their  food  is  similar  to 
that  of  the  Partridge. 

The  migrations  of  the  Quails  are  a  salient  feature  in 
their  life  history.  They  winter  in  Africa  and  other 
southern  lands,  coming  northwards  in  the  spring  in  in- 
credible numbers  ;  and,  what  is  rather  singular,  is,  the 
male  birds  precede  the  females  several  days,  sometimes 
a  week,  or  even  more.  These  birds  return  with  unerring 
certainty  to  their  haunts  of  the  previous  season. 


THE  RED   GROUSE. 

HE  who  would  wish  to  observe  the  Red  Grouse  in 
his  natural  haunt,  must  leave  the  lowland  districts  and 
direct  his  attention  to  the  upland  wilds.  Here  he  meets 
Nature  in  all  her  wild  and  solemn  grandeur.  He  sees 
the  mountains  in  rugged  majesty  send  their  heads  to.  the 
skies ;  he  wanders  amidst  the  rocky  crags,  hurled  from 
above,  like  mighty 

Fragments  of  an  earlier  world  ; 

he  threads  his  perilous  way  over  the  marshy  tracts 
and  on  the  borders  of  the  mountain  currents,  mayhap 
pondering  over  his  nothingness  and  the  scarcity  of 
animal  life.  Now  wandering  over  the  interminable 
stretch  of  heath,  he  starts  the  Twite  from  its  lowly  bed, 
and  it  utters  its  complaining  note  and  retires  still  further 
into  the  wild  ;  or  he  hears  the  Curlew's  piping  call,  as  on 


310  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

rapid  wing  it  cleaves  the  air  above  him  on  its  way  to  the 
marshy  tracts.  Suddenly  he  flushes  the  Red  Grouse,  the 
bird  he  has  come  to  seek,  from  its  heathery  bed,  and  with 
harsh  grating  cries  the  bird  bids  him  go  bac,  go  bac,  bac- 
bac-bac ;  and  on  rapid  wings,  now  fluttering,  now  sailing, 
it  flies  before  him,  and  again  alights  a  hundred  yards  away. 
This,  then,  is  the  home  of  the  Red  Grouse,  and  these 
his  alarm  notes  with  which  he  ushers  an  intruder  into 
his  favourite,  though  wild  and  lonely,  haunt.  A  bird  of 
which  we  should  be  justly  proud,  when  we  bear  in  mind 
that  in  no  other  land,  out  of  the  British  Isles,  is  he 
found  in  a  state  of  nature.  Here  he  remains  stationary 
on  his  barren  moor  ;  in  summer,  scorched  by  the  sum- 
mer sun,  he  frequents  the  shady  heath  tufts ;  in  the 
winter,  when  the  blasts  sweep  over  the  naked  heights, 
swirling  with  resistless  fury  down  the  bleak  mountain 
sides,  he  crouches  low  in  the  herbage,  and  ever  and  anon 
fas  startling  notes  ring  out  loud  and  clear,  as  if  bidding 
defiance  to  the  very  elements. 

The  Red  Grouse  is  a  ground  bird,  roosting  on  the 
ground,  and  drawing  his  sustenance  from  the  herbage 
growing  upon  it  ;  and  so  closely  does  his  plumage  re- 
semble the  heathery  waste,  that  detection  is  amost  im- 
possible, and  from  this  circumstance  his  chief  safety 
from  predaceous  birds  and  animals  alone  depends. 
Yet  sometimes  we  see  him  in  the  stunted  trees  grow- 
ing on  the  moor,  but  more  often  see  him  perched  on 
the  walls  or  rocky  boulders.  We  must,  however,  bear 
in  mind  that  the  bird  but  rarely  visits  the  trees  ;  indeed, 
those  lovely  ornaments  of  the  vegetable  world  seldom 
grace  the  bleak  open  moor  ;  and  I  am  pretty  certain 
that  when  a  Grouse  is  seen  in  the  branches  of  a  tree,  and 
thought  to  be  the  Red  Grouse,  it  will  upon  closer 
examination  usually  turn  out  to  be  the  female  of  the 


THE  RED   GROUSE,  311 


Black  Grouse,  a  bird,  by  the  way,  often  in  the  trees, 
and  resembling  the  Red  Grouse  in  its  appearance. 

In  cold  stormy  weather  Grouse  are  found  in  greatest 
plenty  on  the  sheltered  hill  sides,  and  lie  still  closer  than 
is  their  wont.  Once  on  the  wing  at  these  times,  how- 
ever, they  fly  with  increased  rapidity,  the  wind  aiding 
them  in  their  flight.  As  a  rule,  when  flushed,  these  birds 
fly  but  a  short  distance,  although  they  sometimes  go  a 
mile  or  more  before  alighting. 

The  Red  Grouse  is  a  monogamous  species,  and  pairs 
very  early  in  the  season,  although  we  seldom  find  their 
nests  till  early  May.  Amongst  the  heather,  under  a 
stunted  bush,  or  beneath  the  shelter  of  a  mass  of  rock, 
a  home  can  speedily  be  arranged.  Simple  it  is  in  the 
extreme,  merely  a  hollow  lined  with  a  few  sprigs  of  the 
heath,  and  mayhap  one  or  two  withered  leaves  and 
bents.  In  this  cavity  the  female  bird  lays  from  eight  to 
twelve  handsome  eggs,  creamy  white  in  ground  colour, 
speckled  and  mottled  all  over  with  deep  purplish-brown. 
They  are  about  the  size  of  a  Pheasant's,  possibly  a  little 
smaller.  Few  birds  sit  more  closely  than  she,  and  her 
mate  is  seldom  far  away.  You  may  walk  near  her,  yet 
she  stirs  not  ;  you  may  stand  and  gaze  at  her  as  she 
lies  crouching  low  and  fearful  over  her  priceless  charge, 
and  she  remains  quiet  and  motionless  as  the  rock  which 
partially  shields  her  home.  You  cannot  help  admiring 
how  her  own  mottled  plumage  resembles  the  colours  of 
the  heath,  and  how  beautifully  nature  has  provided  her 
with  protective  powers.  Should  you  bend  down  to  ex- 
amine her  more  closely,  personal  safety  masters  her 
maternal  love,  and  she  glides  rapidly  and  silently  away, 
leaving  her  eggs  exposed  to  your  view.  But  one  brood 
is  hatched  in  the  season,  although  if  the  first  clutch  of 
eggs  be  destroyed  the  birds  will  sometimes  lay  again. 


AY  RAJ.  luki)  /.//••/•:. 


As  soon  as  the  young  are  hatched  they  are  able  to  quit 
the  nest,  which  they  do,  and  follow  their  anxious  parent, 
who  finds  food  for  them,  and  shelters  them  under  her 
wings  at  nightfall.  Should  you  come  unexpectedly  upon 
a  brood  of  young  Grouse  and  their  parents,  the  old  birds 
will  sometimes  display  alluring  motions  until  their  young 
have  sought  safety,  when  they  separate,  and  fly  quickly 
ofT,  only  to  return  and  collect  their  scattered  brood  when 
the  danger  has  passed. 

Many  persons  will  scarcely  allow  a  protective  instinct 
to  birds  of  such  tender  age.  But  let  them  come  suddenly 
upon  a  tender  brood,  and  notice  how  the  little  creatures, 
hatched  it  may  be  but  a  few  hours,  spread  themselves 
in  all  directions,  and,  while  their  attention  is  arrested  by 
the  parent  birds,  lie  close  to  the  ground  and  remain 
motionless  until  they  leave  them  again  to  their  parents' 
care,  those  persons  I  say  must  at  once  abandon  these 
views  in  favour  of  a  protective  power.  True,  the  little 
creatures  are  unconscious  of  the  good  they  are  effecting  ; 
but  still  they  are  born  wicn  that  in  their  nature  which 
causes  them  so  to  act  by  resistless  impulse,  and  when 
they  reach  maturity  these  motions  cease  their  mysteri- 
ous power,  and  motions  befitting  their  more  matured 
lives  take  their  place.  Such  is  Instinct  in  one  of  its 
many  strange  and  unreadable  forms  ;  and  yet  when  we 
study  its  many  and  varied  forms,  effectual  though  they 
are  in  their  proper  sphere,  and  compare  them  with  that 
power  common  to  man  alone,  we  cannot  fail  to  notice 
the  infinite  void  between  them. 

The  young  Grouse,  like  game  birds  in  general,  gain 
the  use  of  their  wings  but  slowly.  July  arrives  ere  they 
are  at  all  strong  on  the  wing :  sometimes  this  event  is 
much  later,  as  the  sportsman  of  the  twelfth,  the  memor- 
able twelfth  of  August,  knows  full  well.  The  Grouse  is 


THE  RED   GROUSE.  313 


also  subject  to  a  certain  disease,  of  most  frequent  occur- 
rence in  wet  and  unfavourable  seasons. 

The  Grouse  has  not  far  to  search  for  his  food.  His 
seemingly  barren  home,  arid  and  sterile  at  a  glance  as 
it  seems  to  be,  is  yet  a  sumptuous  storehouse.  The 
heath  with  which  the  moor  and  mountain  sides  are 
clothed  affords  him  its  tender  shoots,;  the  bilberry  and 
cranberry,  that  grow  over  the  rocks  and  stud  the  heath 
with  their  dark  green  patches  of  foliage,  yield  him  a 
plentiful  crop  of  fruit,  on  which  he  greedily  feeds  in  the 
autumn  months.  The  rank  vegetation  also  affords  him 
its  seeds,  and  grubs  and  insects  abound  in  the  summer 
months.  When  .the  snow  lies  deep  over  the  wild,  the 
Grouse  repairs  to  the  hollows  and  places  where  the  snow 
was  driven  past,  and  ekes  out  his  sustenance  from  the 
buds  and  tender  shoots  of  t  he  herbage ;  or,  perched  in  the 
branches  of  the  silver  birch,  he  picks  out  the  seeds  and 
buds.  Where  the  Grouse  is  carefully  preserved  the 
heath  is  burnt  down  in  large  patches  yearly,  and  the 
young  tender  shoots  of  its  returning  vegetation  are  a 
highly  prized  delicacy  of  the  birds,  who  flock  to  these 
patches  in  immense  numbers.  The  bird,  however,  is  not 
a  gregarious  one  ;  still  the  broods  and  their  parents  often 
remain  in  company  till  the  following  mating  season. 

In  the  winter  months  the  Grouse  is  the  only  bird 
seen  in  any  numbers  in  the  upland  wilds.  True,  the 
Kestrel  sometimes  pays  him  a  visit,  and  the  Merlin 
has  his  home  amongst  the  rocky  boulders.  Yet  the 
little  Pipits  we  saw  on  every  side  in  summer  have 
now  left  for  the  warmer  lowlands  and  pastures  ;  the 
Curlews  and  the  Plovers  have  bid  the  moor  adieu,  and 
are  gone  far  away  to  the  distant  coast ;  and  now  in 
winter,  with  the  exception  of  a  wisp  of  Snipe,  or  mayhap 
a  storm-driven  Mallard  or  Gull,  the  moor  is  in  the  sole 


314  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


possession  of  the  Grouse.  Thus,  in  studying  the  life 
history  of  the  Red  Grouse,  we  cannot  help  but  notice 
how  the  feathered  tribes  are  distributed  throughout  the 
land.  Wherever  we  wander  we  find  birds  peculiar  to 
the  district,  and  whose  varied  modes  of  life  are  in  har- 
mony with  the  surroundings. 


THE  LAPWING. 

IN  the  spring  and  summer  months  the  Lapwing  lives 
on  the  inland  pastures  and  moorlands.  We  find  them 
in  greatest  plenty  in  the  marshy  tracts,  sometimes 
several  hundreds  living  in  one  scattered  colony.  Then, 
too,  in  smaller  numbers,  they  frequent  the  fallow  land 
and  open  commons.  I,  for  my  part,  love  to  see  the 
Lapwing  on  the  bleak,  dreary  moor,  where  the  reed  tufts 
dot  the  wild  grassy  wastes,  marking  the  marshy  swamps, 
or  where  the  stunted  heath  informs  us  that  the  ground 
is  dry  and  sustaining,  enlivening  the  air  with  its  cries, 


316  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

and  adding  to  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  scene  by 
its  rich  and  varied  plumage. 

As  you  wander  over  their  breezy  haunts,  you  have 
good  opportunity  of  witnessing  their  easy  buoyant  flight. 
Your  first  appearance  calls  forth  the  signal  of  alarm,  and 
one  by  one  jthe  birds  rise  from  the  ground,  and  with 
flapping  pinions  sail  above  your  head,  their  snow-white 
plumage  glistening  in  the  light.  There  is  a  certain  bold 
impressiveness  about  their  fli2ht  that  fails  tc  bend  to 
the  pen's  descriptive  powers.  Now  they  soar,  seemingly 
without  effort,  then  on  flapping  wings  they  wheel  round 
and  round.  Anon  they  dart  rapidly  down,  as  if  hurling 
themselves  to  the  ground ;  and  then,  mounting  the  air 
again  with  easy  grace,  fly  in  ever-changing  course,  darting, 
wheeling,  tumbling,  and  reeling,  as  though  beating  time 
with  their  pinions  to  their  wailing  and  expressive  cries — 
cries  that  seem  to  speak  of  defiance  and  alarm  ;  defiance 
at  your  puny  efforts  to  cross  their  dangerous  haunt,  and 
alarm  for  the  safety  of  their  eggs  or  young  lying  ex- 
posed on  the  waste  around.  Weet-a-weet,  pee-weet-weet, 
sounds  in  all  directions,  as  if  the  birds  were  beseeching 
you  to  quit  their  unattractive  home,  and  leave  them  to 
the  solitude  which  they  love.  Your  retreat  is  the  signal 
for  alighting,  and  one  by  one  they  flap  rapidly  just  above 
the  ground,  and  then  alight.  In  the  air  the  Lapwing  is 
a  somewhat  singular  looking  bird,  and  its  immense 
stretch  of  wing  and  strange  and  rapid  motions  enable 
you  readily  to  distinguish  it  from  any  other  bird  that 
cleaves  the  air.  If  you  watch  them  closely  you  find 
that  they  alight  somewhat  different  from  other  birds, 
and  keep  the  long  wings  extended  for  a  few  momentsk 
and  then  gracefully  fold  them.  At  a  distance  the 
upper  plumage  of  the  Lapwing  appears  of  a  mouse 
colour ;  yet  when  you  examine  it  closely  you  find  it  is 


THE  LAPWING.  317 

a    lovely    green,    loricated    with    metallic    purple    and 
bronze. 

The  Lapwings  visit  the  inland  districts  for  the  purpose 
of  rearing  their  young.  About  the  period  of  the  vernal 
equinox  they  leave  the  coast  and  retire  to  their  old 
upland  haunts,  where  they  soon  pair,  and  the  duties 
which  sent  them  thither  commence.  As  we  wander 
over  their  breeding  grounds  the  birds  rise,  but  seldom 
indeed  remaining  upon  their  nest  until  closely  approached, 
arid  wheel  in  airy  flight  above  our  heads.  But  do  not 
confine  your  attention  to  the  birds  alone,  if  you  wish  a 
sight  of  their  home  and  eggs.  As  you  approach  a  little 
reed  tuft,  the  Lapwing  just  above  your  head  drops 
to  the  ground,  and  uttering  its  mournful  note  appears  to 
be  severely  wounded — a  sure  sign  that  you  are  near  the 
object  you  seek.  Disregard  the  motions  of  the  parent 
bird,  and  confine  your  attention  to  the  reed  tuft,  and 
there  you  will  doubtless  see  the  cause  of  the  bird's  strange 
and  varied  antics.  In  the  centre  of  the  tuft,  mayhap, 
a  little  home  has  been  constructed  ;  merely  a  hollow 
lined  with  a  few  bits  of  withered  herbage,  and  the  eggs, 
always  four  in  number,  if  the  full  complement  is 
deposited,  lie  in  the  nest  with  their  small  or  pointed 
ends  turned  inwards,  to  take  up  the  least  possible  amount 
of  space.  You  find  the  eggs  subject  to  little  variety, 
although  they  differ  sometimes  in  size  and  shape.  They 
are  pale  olive-green  or  brown  in  ground  colour,  spotted 
and  blotched  with  deep  brown  approaching  to  black. 
As  you  examine  them,  you  will  probably  note  that  they 
are  very  large  when  compared  with  the  size  of  the  bird, 
a  circumstance,  by  the  way,  common  to  birds  known  as 
Waders.  Nests  of  the  Lapwing  are  also  often  found 
on  grass  lands,  usually  on  the  summit  of  a  mole  hill  ;  or 
the  eggs  are  found  in  the  lowland  districts,  on  the 


318  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

ploughed  lands,  without  nests,  often  in  the  cavity  formed 
by  the  heavy  feet  of  the  horses  or  cattle,  but  wherever 
we  find  the  eggs  they  are  almost  invariably  laid  on  some 
little  eminence.  The  young  Lapwings  can  run  as  soon 
as  hatched,  and  are  fed  and  tended  by  both  the  parent 
birds.  Pretty  little  creatures  they  are  in  their  mottled 
brown  plumage,  and  ever  in  motion  ;  but  should  danger 
threaten  they  instantly  nestle  into  the  herbage  like  young 
Partridges,  and  remain  motionless,  while  their  anxious 
and  ever  watchful  parents  endeavour  to  lead  the  intruder 
away  by  their  alluring  motions. 

The  Lapwing  is  a  bird  particularly  active  at  night- 
fall, and  its  shrill  wailing  notes  are  heard  when  the 
sun's  departure  lias  wrapped  its  haunt  in  mist  and 
gloom.  The  birds  have  a  purpose  in  keeping  such  late 
hours,  for  the  worms  that  form  their  main  support  come 
to  the  surface  of  the  ground  in  largest  numbers  at  dusk. 
It  has  been  gravely  asserted  that  the  Lapwing  taps  the 
ground  with  his  feet,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  the 
worms  out  of  their  holes  to  the  surface  of  the  ground  : 
the  Starling  is  said  to  act  in  a  similar  manner  for  the 
same  purpose.  But  both  these  birds  are  never  put  to  these 
singular  motions  for  the  purpose  of  gaining  a  meal,  and 
worms  are  always  to  be  secured  either  on  the  surface  or 
partly  protuding  from  it.  Again,  were  these  motions 
really  resorted  to,  the  bird  has  not  the  power  to  strike 
the  earth  with  sufficient  force  to  alarm  the  worm  creep- 
ing beneath  it.  Snails,  insects,  and  grubs  also  form 
much  of  the  Lapwing's  food  during  the  summer  months. 

When  the  winds  of  autumn  sweep  dismally  over  the 
uplands,  and  the  heather  and  gorse  flowers  have  faded, 
the  Lapwings  bid  their  inland  haunts  adieu  and  wing 
their  way  to  the  distant  coasts,  most  probably  migrating 
in  the  night.  Were  we  to  follow  them,  we  should  find 


THE  LAPWING.  319 


that  they  frequent  the  salt  marshes  and  the  lands  border- 
ing the  sea,  and  often  on  the  beach,  following  the  reced- 
ing waves,  to  pick  up  the  various  animal  substances.  In 
the  winter  months  flocks  of  Lapwings  from  the  sea  coast 
are  frequently  seen  crossing  over  the  inland  tracts  of 
country.  These  flocks  often  foretell  a  coming  snowstorm, 
before  which  the  birds  are  retiring  to  grounds  open  and 
more  tenable.  Yet  once  the  storm  abated,  the  birds 
again  seek  the  coast,  to  reap  the  endless  harvests  of  the 
ocean,  for  there  is  not  a  tide  but  what  spreads  the  sands 
with  animal  matter  in  abundance,  there  is  not  a  wave 
that  breaks  upon  the  shore  but  what  comes  laden  with 
food  in  plenty  for  them. 

We  have  yet  to  learn  why  the  Lapwings  leave  the 
sea  coasts  in  spring,  to  spread  over  the  inland  moors  and 
pastures.  Food  can  scarcely  be  considered  as  the 
primary  cause,  for  the  Ringed  Plover  and  many 
other  shore  birds,  apparently  differing  in  few  of  their 
requirements  from  the  Lapwing,  remain  on  the  sandy 
shores,  and  rear  their  young  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
waters  of  the  deep.  Depend  upon  it,  when  migration 
and  its  causes  are  studied  more  carefully,  many  of  the 
actions  of  the  feathered  tribes,  to  us  at  present  unaccount- 
able and  mysterious,  will  become  plain,  and  exhibit 
facts  which  we  are  now  little  or  not  at  all  aware  of. 


320  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


THE    COMMON  SANDPIPER. 

ON  the  banks  of  our  mountain  lakes  and  streams 
and  lowland  sheets  of  water  lives  a  little  bird  in  the 
summer  months  known  to  the  country  people  as  the 
Summer  Snipe,  and  to  one  well  versed  in  the  study 
of  ornithology  as  the  Common  Sandpiper.  It  is  an  un- 
obtrusive little  creature  enough,  yet  withal  a  very  en- 
gaging one.  Running  nimbly  on  the  sands,  it  probes 
them  with  its  long  beak,  to  secure  the  worms  hiding 
there,  its  little  footprints  marking  out  its  course.  Its 
long  legs  enable  it  to  wade  with  ease,  yet  it  never  swims, 
for  its  requirements  need  no  such  form  of  motion.  If 
you  disturb  it  when  wandering  round  the  sandy  or 
marshy  shore  it  rises  suddenly,  and  with  rapid  graceful 
flight  pursues  its  way  close  to  the  water  to  a  place  of 
seclusion,  uttering  its  shrill  and  piping  iveet-weet  as  it 
goes. 

If  wishful  of  studying  his  habits,  you  must  delay 
your  visit  to  his  haunts  until  the  month  of  April  calls 
the  migratory  birds  hither,  and  releases  the  mud  flats, 
sands,  and  marshes  from  the  relentless  grasp  of  winter. 
It  is  then,  by  resistless  impulse  driven,  he  quits  his  winter 
haunts  and  repairs  to  the  localities  mentioned  above,  for 
the  purpose  of  feeding  on  the  worms  and  insects,  and 
rearing  his  young.  You  find  he  is  somewhat  shy  and 
retiring  at  all  times,  but  by  a  cautious  advance  you  will 
generally  succeed  in  watching  his  actions  on  the  margin 


THE   COMMON  SANDPIPER.  321 


of  the  waters.  Those  dull  uninteresting  mud  flats  are 
his  storehouses  ;  those  stretches  of  golden  sand  studded 
with  the  white  shining  pebbles  abound  with  the  food 
which  he  loves,  the  food  on  which  his  young  can  alone 
reach  maturity,  and  this  circumstance  is  probably  the 
only  explanation  of  his  presence  here.  Sandpipers  do 
not  commence  their  nesting  duties  immediately  upon 
their  arrival,  although  they  invariably  arrive  in  pairs, 
and  seldom  quit  the  water  side  during  the  whole  period 
of  their  stay. 

Sandpipers  are  incessantly  in  motion,  and  never 
fail  to  amuse  the  observer  with  their  merry  gambols. 
Now  pausing  for  a  moment,  with  head  held  suspi- 
ciously erect,  as  if  aware  of  your  presence,  then  again 
returning  to  their  labours.  Nimbly  they  run  over  the 
muddy  wastes,  skirting  the  very  edge  of  the  rippling 
waves,  or  occasionally  wading  into  them,  to  secure 
a  small  insect  or  beetle,  all  the  time  jerking  their  short 
tail,  and  now  and  then  uttering  their  call  notes.  Re- 
turning to  the  shore,  they  probe  the  mud  with  their 
long  slender  beaks,  and  draw  forth  the  mud  worms  and 
various  forms  of  aquatic  insect  life  lurking  there.  The 
Sandpiper  is  not  formed  for  Siving  or  swimming,  and 
though  you  observe  him  carefully  during  the  whole  time 
of  his  stay,  you  will  never  see  him  adopt  these  motions. 
His  long  legs  carry  him  to  the  depth  he  wishes  without 
wetting  his  plumage,  save  indeed  the  head,  which  is 
sometimes,  though  rarely,  submerged.  He  is  a  bird  of 
the  shallows  alone,  and  rarely  if  ever  seen  on  the  banks 
of  the  deep  waters,  and  no  more  fitted  for  a  truly 
aquatic  life  than  the  delicate  sylvan  chorisfers  them- 
selves. 

Instances  have  been  brought  forward  where  the 
Sandpiper  has  been  known  to  swim.  But  this,  as  far  as 

Y 


322  RURAL   BIRD   LIFE. 

I  can  learn,  has  only  occurred  when  the  bird  has  been 
wounded,  and  taken  to  the  water  to  escape  capture,  or 
unwittingly  fallen  into  it  I  have  known  a  Blackbird,  a 
young  bird  and  scarcely  able  to  fly,  swim  or  rather  float 
on  the  surface  of  a  sheet  of  water  over  which  it  endea- 
voured to  cross  on  pinions  which  proved  unable  to  carry 
it  in  safety.  The  poor  bird  struggled  hard  to  gain  the 
shore,  and  I  may  say  floated  admirably,  yet  one  could 
plainly  see  he  was  in  an  element  Nature  never  intended 
him  to  be.  His  plumage  soon  got  saturated,  his 
struggles  more  and  more  feeble,  and  at  last  he  lay  life- 
less on  the  water.  These  remarks  are  analogous  with  the 
swimming  Sandpiper;  for  although  he  is  a  bird  destined 
to  seek  his  sustenance  on  the  borders  of  the  waters,  and 
in  their  shallows  as  far  as  his  legs  will  support  him,  still 
he  is  no  more  fitted  to  swim  through  them  or  dive  under 
their  surface  than  the  poor  unfortunate  songster  men- 
tioned above. 

Few  birds  indeed  are  more  attached  to  their  haunt 
than  the  little  Sandpiper.  Yearly  they  return  to  their 
old  breeding  grounds,  and  though  you  plunder  their 
nests  and  otherwise  disturb  them,  they  still  return  with 
unfailing  certainty  to  the  liome  of  their  choice. 

We  often  see  the  Sandpiper  running  as  nimbly  on 
the  walls  as  round  the  edge  of  the  water  ;  yet  I  cannot 
find  that  they  perch  in  trees,  although  the  formation  of 
their  feet  does  not  prevent  them  from  so  doing.  Another 
peculiarity  attached  to  birds  of  the  wading  tribe  alone  is 
the  practice  of  flying  with  the  wings  greatly  curved, 
more  so  than  any  other  class  of  birds.  I  often  see  the 
Sandpiper  mark  the  course  of  his  rapid  flight  by  a  series 
of  rings  made  by  his  arched  pinions  striking  the  placid 
surface  of  the  waters. 

But    time    passes    rapidly  away,    and    the  purpose 


THE  COMMON  SANDPIPER.  323 


which  sent  the  little  Sandbirds  hither  must  be  seen 
to.  By  the  second  week  in  May  they  have  sought  out 
a  nesting-site.  It  is  never  far  away  from  the  water 
side,  and  although  often  in  the  most  bare  and  unshel- 
tered places,  it  is  found  with  the  greatest  difficulty.  On 
the  sandy  banks  carpeted  with  coarse  grasses  she  will 
often  make  her  home ;  she  will  retire  some  little  dis- 
tance from  the  waters  and  deposit  her  eggs  amongst  the 
herbage  on  the  higher  lands  ;  or  she  will  take  up  her 
abode  on  a  little  stretch  of  sand,  and  amongst  the 
masses  of  rock  and  tufts  of  heather  hatch  her  brood  in 
comparative  safety.  When,  however,  we  do  discover 
her  nest,  we  find  it  is  invariably  sheltered  on  one  side  at 
least,  sometimes  by  a  mass  of  rock,  at  others  by  a 
scrubby  bush.  As  we  stroll  over  this  sandy  waste  in 
full  expectation  the  little  Sandbird  warily  and  silently 
watches  our  actions  ;  she  crouches  lower  still  in  fear  as 
we  unwittingly  approach  her  home,  and  when  almost 
trodden  upon,  she  dashes  forward  with  a  feeble  weet  of 
anguish  and  utter  despair,  and  by  her  various  alluring 
motions  endeavours  to  lead  us  away  and  draw  all  our 
attention  upon  herself.  If  we  were  to  pursue  her,  she 
would  lead  us  away  for  some  distance,  and  then  suddenly 
gain  the  use  of  her  seemingly  broken  wings,  and  with  a 
note  of  exultation  fly  rapidly  away,  to  return  when  we 
quitted  her  breeding  ground.  But  let  us  look  carefully 
around  near  where  she  started  forth.  After  a  by  no 
means  easy  search  we  find  her  little  home  under  a 
heather  tuft.  Her  bush  of  heather  is  the  counterpart  of 
a  hundred  others  around,  and  her  nest  is  inconspicuous 
in  its  simplicity.  It  is  only  a  little  hole,  round  and  well 
formed  it  is  true,  lined  with  little  bits  of  the  heather 
and  a  few  dry  grass  stems.  The  eggs  are  four  in 
number,  placed  with  the  small  ends  inwards,  and  in  such 


324  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

a  manner  that  if  we  once  remove  them  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  replace  them  as  to  lay  so  close  and  com- 
pact. We  cannot  help  but  notice  when  examining  her 
eggs  how  closely  they  harmonise  with  the  surroundings. 
Take  one  of  them  out  and  place  it  upon  the  sandy  ground, 
and  direct  your  attention  from  it  a  moment,  and  then 
mark  the  difficulty  you  experience  in  again  noticing  it. 
And  handsome  eggs  they  are,  and  very  large  for  the 
size  of  the  bird,  too.  Indeed,  had  we  not  seen  the  little 
creature  leave  them,  and  not  been  acquainted  with  this 
matter,  we  should  have  thought  them  to  be  the  eggs  of 
a  much  larger  bird.  They  are  pale  yellow  or  stone- 
coloured  in  ground  colour,  mottled  and  blotched  with 
deep  reddish-brown,  intermingled  with  faint  dashes  of 
much  lighter  brown  and  purple,  sometimes  streaked  on 
the  larger  end  with  very  deep  brown.  And  now  having 
minutely  examined  her  home  and  its  contents,  let  us 
not  make  it  desolate  ;  let  us  reverence  the  protective 
wiles  of  the  anxious  mother  ;  let  her  return  to  complete 
her  weary  labour  of  love,  and  rear  her  brood  in  peace. 

The  male  Sandpiper  is  seldom  far  away  from  his 
partner.  When  incubation  is  going  on  he  takes  his 
place  upon  the  eggs,  although  he  does  not  sit  so  long  as 
the  female.  When  the  bird  leaves  its  nest  of  its  own 
free  will,  and  unmenaced  by  danger,  it  invariably  runs 
for  a  few  yards  before  taking  wing.  As  soon  as  the 
young  are  hatched  they  leave  the  nest  and  repair  to  the 
water-side  with  their  parents.  Young  Sandpipers  are 
engaging  little  creatures  when  in  the  downy  plumage, 
and  quite  as  active  as  their  parents.  As  the  months 
roll  by  the  little  creatures  advance  to  maturity.  Theif 
pinions  become  stronger  and  stronger,  and  ere  long 
they  are  able  to  fly  for  short  distances.  Their  beaks, 
too,  once-  short,  now  reach  their  proper  length  ;  their 


THE   COMMON  SANDPIPER.  325 

frames  become  more  robust,  and  they  daily  become 
more  fitted  for  the  long  and  perilous  journey  that  awaits 
them. 

The  Sandpiper,  like  the  Swallow,  needs  the  presence 
of  perpetual  summer,  and  when  the  first  days  of  autumn 
arrive  we  see  them  probably  more  active  than  usual,  and 
far,  very  far  more  noisy.  The  time  of  departure  has 
arrived.  Suddenly  we  miss  them  from  their  sandy 
wastes,  no  longer  see  their  little  footprints  marking  out 
their  wandering  course  on  the  mud  flats.  They  have  left 
us  for  more  genial  climes,  and  that,  too,  in  the  night — 
for  birds  of  this  order  that  migrate  invariably  do  so  at 
that  time  ;  or  if  only  of  a  wandering  disposition,  we  find 
they  journey  from  one  place  to  another  under  the  cover 
of  darkness.  I  cannot  find  that  the  Sandpiper  assembles 
in  flocks  for  the  purpose  of  migrating,  and  it  is  very 
probable  they  do  not.  The  young,  however,  migrate 
with  their  parents,  and  as  these  parties  near  their  southern 
destination  they  may  probably  unite  in  companies  to 
spend  the  winter;  but  this,  after  all,  is  mere  conjecture, 
and  must  be  taken  for  what  it  is  worth. 


THE  SNIPE. 

As  we  wander  round  the  mountain  lakes,  over  the 
seemingly  interminable  swamp,  where  the  ground  be- 
neath us  trembles  under  our  weight,  and  we  have  to 
pick  our  way  carefully,  stepping  from  one  cluster  of 
rushes  to  another,  we  are  apt  to  ponder  over  the  absence 
of  bird  life.  True,  we  have  passed  a  short  while  ago  a 
company  of  Plovers  on  the  higher  grounds,  and  seen  the 
Red  Grouse  in  plenty  on  the  drier  land,  still  here  all 
seems  desolate.  As  we  pause  to  admire  the  sublimity 
of  Nature  in  her  wildest  aspects,  the  perfect  silence 
seems  oppressive,  and  a  slight  feeling  of  sadness  creeps 
irresistibly  upon  us.  Nothing  breaks  the  solemn  stillness 
of  the  wilderness  save  the  incessant  lap  lap  of  the  waters, 
stirred  into  motion  by  the  mountain  breeze,  or  the 
rustling  murmurs  of  the  reeds  and  the  plash  plash  of  our 


THE  SNIPE.  327 


footsteps  as  we  wander  cautiously  along.  Suddenly, 
however,  we  flush  the  Snipe  from  his  hiding-place 
amongst  the  reeds.  Silently,  though  swiftly  as  a  meteor, 
he  dashes  still  further  into  the  morass,  to  escape  our 
sight  and  seek  safety  in  its  deepest  solitudes.  Here, 
then,  we  have  a  bird  who  prefers  this  silent  lonely  marsh 
to  the  richer  lands,  who  delights  rather  to  live  amongst 
it?  dank  vegetation  than  in  the  richest  of  our  pastures. 
And  why  1  The  Snipe  knows  full  well  that,  aided  by 
his  long  beak,  he  can  find  abundant  food  amongst  its 
oozy  soil,  and  at  the  same  time  keep  in  comparative 
safety,  for  his  plumage  harmonises  closely  with  the 
colours  of  his  reedy  haunt,  and  in  the  seclusion  which  he 
loves. 

By  far  the  greater  number  of  Snipes  leave  us  in  the 
spring  and  retire  northwards  to  breed,  yet  in  the  upland 
districts  they  may  be  found  breeding  in  suitable  places 
in  tolerable  numbers. 

Until  the  beginning  of  April  the  male  Snipe  is  a  bird 
but  rarely  seen,  preferring  rather  to  run  and  skulk  amongst 
the  vegetation  than  take  wing,  unless  absolutely  com- 
pelled. But  no  sooner  does  the  sun  begin  to  make  his 
power  felt,  and  moorland  and  pasture  alike  assume  their 
vernal  vestures,  than  we  see  the  Snipe  ascending  into  the 
air,  uttering  his  strange  and  pleasant  notes.  After  attain- 
ing the  zenith  of  his  flight,  he  will  descend  on  rapidly 
moving  pinions,  causing  the  strange  humming  sound 
known  as  'bleating.'  These  flights  occur  at  intervals 
until  he  finds  a  mate,  although  even  when  the  eggs  are 
deposited,  and  the  female  sitting  upon  them,  he  will 
often  mount  the  air  to  a  great  elevation  and  fly  in  circles 
over  his  reedy  haunts  below. 

The  home  of  the  Snipe  is  built  in  various  situations. 
Sometimes  it  is  found  amongst  the  coarse  grass  or 


328  RbRAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

heather  on  the  drier  portions  of  the  moor,  while  at 
others  it  is  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  reed  tufts  in  the 
swamps,  where  to  reach  it  means  going  up  to  the  waist 
iu  mud,  slime,  and  water.  It  is  a  very  unpretending 
little  home  indeed,  its  materials  being  found  close  at 
hand,  and  but  little  -skill  is  displayed  in  forming  them. 
Little  bits  of  reed  and  dry  grass  are  used,  if  in  the 
swamp  ;  while  if  on  the  moor,  portions  of  the  heather  are 
used  instead.  The  eggs  of  the  Snipe,  as  usual,  large  for 
the  size  of  the  bird,  are  always  four  in  number,  and  in 
shape  of  course  much  pointed,  yet  not  so  much  as 
those  of  the  Sandpiper.  They  are  olive-green  in  ground 
colour,  spotted  and  blotched  with  rich  brown,  and  some- 
times streaked  round  the  larger  end  with  much  deeper 
colour.  The  parent  Snipe  will  display  various  alluring 
motions  should  you  disturb  her,  yet  she  often  quits  her 
eggs  silently  at  the  first  sign  of  your  approach,  and, 
noiselessly  gliding  through  the  herbage,  seeks  a  place 
of  safety,  and  leaves  her  eggs,  trusting  that  their  colour 
will  prove  their  shield.  Sometimes,  however,  especially 
if  her  eggs  be  near  hatching,  she  will  crouch  low,  and 
remain  silent  and  motionless  upon  them,  and  though 
you  approach  her  closely  she  moves  not,  except  probably 
to  nestle  still  closer  over  her  eggs,  dearer  to  her  than 
her  own  life  During  the  whole  period  of  incubation  the 
male  Snipe  strays  but  little  from  the  vicinity  of  the  nest, 
and  takes  his  turn  upon  the  eggs  while  his  mate  recruits 
her  failing  powers  with  food. 

Young  Snipes  have  the  beak  nothing  near  so  long  as 
their  parents,  and  are  covered  with  a  downy  garb  of 
brown.  Both  the  old  Snipes  attend  them,  forage  for 
them,  and  protect  them  if  need  be  from  the  prowling 
Crow  or  Hawk.  Should  a  human  intruder  appear  upon 
the  scene,  he  would  find,  as  is  the  case  with  all  birds  of 


THE   SNIPE.  329 


the  order,  that  the  old  birds  reel  and  tumble  before  him, 
or  otherwise  try  to  take  his  attention,  and  the  brood 
separate  and  instantly  crouch  low  and  motionless 
amongst  the  herbage,  there  to  remain  until  the  danger 
has  passed. 

I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  Snipe,  as  soon  as  its 
young  have  gained  the  use  of  their  pinions,  abandons 
them,  and  also  separates  from  its  mate,  and  remains 
solitary  for  the  remainder  of  the  year,  or  at  most  unites 
in  little  parties,  either  drawn  together  by  the  position  of 
their  food,  or  for  the  purpose  of  migrating.  In  the  late 
autumn  months  the  Snipes  which  retired  to  the  swamps 
of  Northern  Europe  now  return  to  winter  here.  In  hard 
weather  they  sometimes  frequent  the  hedgerows,  especi- 
ally where  a  sluggish  stream  occurs.  So,  too,  we  see  them 
in  the  woods  or  plantations  in  company  with  the  Wood- 
cocks, and  even  amongst  turnips  in  the  swampy  parts  of 
the  field.  Snipes  perform  their  migrations  in  the  night. 
Most  wonderful  is  the  instinct  which  leads  them  to  a 
fitting  haunt  when  in  the  course  of  their  journeyings, 
especially  when  we  know  the  birds  travel  in  the  night 
time,  when  landmarks  are  invisible,  and  the  whole  face 
of  the  country  wrapped  in  murky  gloom.  One  day  a 
locality  may  not  contain  a  single  Snipe,  while  the  next 
they  occur  in  abundance.  Where  the  birds  are  numerous 
you  find  they  rise  here  and  there,  never  congregate,  and 
busy  themselves  with  their  own  affairs  alone.  Solitary 
they  are  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  not  even 
sociable  amongst  themselves,  seldom  more  than  a  pair 
together,  and  their  only  unions  are  formed  for  purposes 
already  dwelt  upon. 

The  Snipe  is  not  a  swimming  bird,  and  seldom  takes 
to  the  water.  I  have,  however,  seen  a  bird  of  this 
species  when  flying  over  a  mountain  lake  suddenly  dash 


330  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


into  the  water,  and,  after  plunging  about  for  a  few 
moments,  again  resume  its  flight ;  but  what  caused  these 
singular  motions  in  ice-cold  water — for  the  time  was 
midwinter — I  know  not. 

The  bill  of  the  Snipe,  if  closely  examined,  will  be 
found  a  study  in  itself  fraught  with  interest  and  wonder- 
ment. Its  length  enables  him  to  probe  deeply  his  boggy 
haunts,  and  the  nerves  with  which  it  abounds  enable 
him  to  feel  his  prey.  His  food  consists  of  worms  for  the 
most  part,  although  insects  are  often  secured,  and  doubt- 
less other  animal  substances  that  abound  in  the  soil 
peculiar  to  his  haunts. 

The  Snipe,  like  his  cousin  the  Jack  Snipe,  shows  a 
strong  love  for  his  haunt,  and  you  may  repeatedly  disturb 
and  alarm  him,  yet  he  still  frequents  the  place  as  long  as 
food  is  plentiful,  and  by  a  little  attention  to  his  habits 
you  are  able  to  find  him  whenever  you  wander  through 
his  haunt. 


THE  LANDRAIL.  331 


THE  LANDRAIL. 

THE  Landrail  is  a  bird  far  more  often  heard  than 
seen.  A  shy  and  wary  creature,  he  delights  to  dwell 
amongst  the  densest  vegetation,  and  is  but  rarely 
observed  on  the  wing.  His  body  is  admirably  formed 
for  penetrating  the  dank  herbage,  and  the  colours  of  his 
plumage,  beautiful  though  they  are.  are  exceedingly 
sober,  and  make  him  an  object  inconspicuous  amidst 
surroundings  the  same. 

Landrails  are  migratory  birds,  and  their  migrations 
are  undoubtedly  performed  in  the  night.  It  is  difficult 
to  give  the  exact  time  of  their  appearance,  for  being  such 
retiring  birds,  their  presence  is  invariably  made  known 
by  their  shrill  and  monotonous  call  notes ;  and  as  it  is 
doubtful  whether  both  male  and  female  call  alike,  it  is 
also  a  matter  of  uncertainty  which  arrives  the  first,  or 
whether  they  journey  in  company.  However,  in  the 
northern  parts  of  England,  as  soon  as  April  departs  in 
favour  of  the  smiling  month  of  May,  their  well-known 
call  notes  are  heard  in  the  grass  and  clover  fields, 
notably  those  lying  low  and  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
water.  The  birds  do  not  frequent  the  corn  fields  so 
much  as  is  very  generally  supposed  ;  the  bird's  name  of 
Corncrake  doubtless  being  misleading  in  this  respect. 

Before  going  further  with  the  life  history  of  the 
Landrail,  I  would  briefly  dwell  upon  a  peculiarity  in 
its  habits  as  yet  totally  unaccounted  for,  and  that  is 


332  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE, 

the  irregularity  of  its  appearance.  Landrails  are  seldorr* 
known  in  the  same  numbers  for  even  two  successive- 
seasons.  One  season  they  are  abundant,  and  the  still 
evening  air  is  laden  with  their  cries ;  the  next,  but 
one  or  two  birds  will  be  heard.  Now,  from  what  I 
have  observed  respecting  this  irregularity  of  appearance, 
I  find  that  when  the  birds  occur  in  such  large  numbers, 
and  remain  to  breed,  a  rainy  season  almost  invariably 
occurs.  The  birds  are  therefore  enticed  to  stop  with  us, 
for  a  wet  season  must  of  necessity  prove  a  successful 
one  for  them,  and  one  harmonising  with  their  require- 
ments. Again,  I  am  also  led  to  believe  that  when  the 
birds  come  in  such  vast  numbers  they  are  probably  on  a 
more  extended  migration,  and  stay  in  certain  districts 
for  a  few  days  for  rest  and  food.  Probably,  too,  these 
birds,  unknown  to  us,  vary  their  routes  to  the  places 
visited,  and  this,  then,  will  explain  their  scarcity  or 
abundance  in  various  seasons  and  in  different  localities  ; 
for  it  is  just  upon  their  arrival  that  we  notice  them  in  the 
greatest  abundance,  and  in  a  few  days  their  numbers 
materially  decrease.  Truly  this  motion  of  the  Land- 
rail is  as  yet  almost  completely  enshrouded  in  mystery, 
and  our  opinions  on  the  matter,  crude  as  they  are,  can 
only  be  drawn  from  sources,  at  best,  perplexing  and  un- 
reliable. We  will  now  return  to  our  Rail  hiding  amongst 
the  vegetation,  and  as  far  as  possible  trace  out  his  shy 
and  retiring  habits. 

The  Landrail  pairs  annually,  and  I  have  reason  to 
believe  some  little  time  after  their  arrival  here.  Before 
that  event  (pairing)  takes  place,  the  birds  are  of  a 
wandering  disposition,  and  indeed  until  a  nesting  ground 
has  been  selected  they  are  continually  on  the  move.  We 
hear  them  calling  in  one  particular  field  one  evening,  and 
perhaps  not  again  in  that  locality  for  several  days. 


THE  LANDRAIL.  333 

Many  a  pleasant  hour  may  be  passed  in  early  summer, 
when  the  moon  shines  bright,  by  listening  to  the  un- 
musical yet  to  me  pleasing  cry  of  the  Landrail.  The 
flowers  throw  off  unwonted  fragrance,  and,  save  the 
chatter  of  the  Goatsucker  as  he  preys  upon  the  night 
moths,  the  occasional  cry  of  the  Owl,  or  the  drowsy 
hum  of  a  wandering  beetle,  the  Landrail's  cries  are 
the  only  ones  that  disturb  the  still  air  of  night.  Now 
the  bird  is  within  a  few  yards  of  you,  and  you  hear  him 
rustle  in  the  thick  cover,  and  his  grating  cries  startle  you 
by  their  nearness.  The  next  heard  of  him  is  at  the 
distant  end  of  the  field  ;  anon,  in  the  centre  ;  ever 
wandering,  approaching  you  and  then  retreating,  his 
crake-crake,  crake-crake,  awakening  the  solitudes  of  night, 
and  answered  by  his  companions  in  the  neighbouring 
meadows.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  night  he  is  heard 
to  call,  and  when  the  sun  is  rising  over  the  eastern 
horizon,  making  the  dewdrops  on  the  grass  stems  glisten 
like  diamonds,  and  the  lovely  summer  foliage  shine  like 
emeralds  of  the  finest  lustre,  his  notes,  too,  are  heard 
mingling  with  the  voices  of  the  birds  of  day. 

The  bird's  keen  sense  of  hearing,  and  the  rapidity  of 
his  retreat  from  the  approach  of  an  intruder,  has  caused 
many  persons  to  believe  that  the  bird  possesses  the  power 
of  throwing  his  voice  in  various  directions.  To  one 
ignorant  of  the  true  habits  of  the  Landrail,  nothing 
seems  more  natural.  Yet  let  him  wander  through  the 
bird's  haunts,  and  note  how  rapidly  they  glide  through 
the  herbage,  and  he  will  at  once  be  able  to  readily  ac- 
count for  the  bird's  seeming  powers  of  ventriloquism. 

When  a  high  wind  is  blowing  we  sometimes  have 
great  difficulty  in  denoting  the  direction  from  which 
their  cries  proceed  ;  now  sounding  high  and  close  at 
hand,  and  anon  appearing  faint  and  distant,  as  they  are 


334  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

borne  away  by  the  breeze.  But  this  does  not  make  the 
Landrail  a  ventriloquist,  and  between  the  lulls  of  the 
wind  we  hear  his  notes  from  one  direction,  clear  and 
powerful  as  usual,  provided  he  is  stationary,  or  in  different 
directions  as  he  wanders  hither  and  thither  through  the 
herbage.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  observer  himself  who  is  at 
fault,  failing  to  remember,  or  being  unaware,  that  the 
slightest  breeze  that  disturbs  the  air  of  a  summer  night 
is  sufficient  to  influence  the  bird's  notes  in  this  respect. 

The  note  of  the  Landrail  can  be  closely  imitated 
by  drawing  a  knife  blade  smartly  across  a  stout  comb, 
Very  little  skill  is  required,  and  by  remaining  perfectly 
motionless  and  quiet,  the  birds  will  often  visit  you,  some 
times  flying  through  the  air  and  alighting  at  your  feet 
or  more  frequently  coming  through  the  herbage.  The 
birds  in  the  mating  season  are  probably  more  often  seen 
than  at  any  other  time  of  their  stay.  I  have  known 
them  in  the  mating  season,  lured  by  a  call,  alight  on  the 
neighbouring  hedgerows  ;  and  I  have  also  heard  them  call 
when  flying  through  the  air,  shortly  after  their  arrival. 
Landrails  are  with  difficulty  flushed,  even  by  dogs,  and 
they  are  slow  fliers  until  they  get  well  into  the  air,  flying 
with  their  legs  hanging  down,  and  are  very  rarely  flushed 
a  second  time.  From  what  I  have  observed,  the  Land- 
rail does  not  call  so  frequently  in  cold,  dull  weather,  and 
still  less  so  during  the  period  of  incubation,  and  his  notes 
entirely  cease  in  the  late  summer  months,  and  he  re- 
mains silent  until  he  leaves  us  for  warmer  latitudes. 

The  food  of  the  Landrail,  as  might  be  supposed,  is 
composed  largely  of  animal  substances.  His  rich  and 
humid  haunts  yield  him  worms,  slugs,  and  snails  in 
abundance,  together  with  various  kinds  of  beetles  and 
insects ;  tender  shoots  of  herbage  are  also  eaten,  as  is 
also  the  seed  of  various  grasses. 


THE  LANDRAIL.  335 


A  little  before  the  summer  solstice,  when  the  her- 
bage is  thick  and  close,  the  Landrails  set  about  the 
duties  of  nesting.  The  nest  is  placed  in  the  clover  fields, 
amongst  the  mowing  grass,  and  but  seldom  or  never  in 
the  grain  fields.  It  is  a  much  better  made  nest  than  we 
should  probably  suppose,  and  made  in  a  small  hole  in 
the  ground.  The  materials  used  are  coarse  and  dry 
stems  of  herbage,  sometimes  a  few  dry  leaves,  and  lined 
with  the  finer  grasses.  The  eggs,  from  eight  to  twelve 
in  number,  and  often  sat  on  as  soon  as  laid,  are  some- 
what small  for  the  size  of  the  bird,  and  warm  yellow  in 
ground  colour,  spotted  and  blotched  with  reddish-brown 
of  various  shades,  and  light  gray  and  purple.  They  are 
subject  to  no  little  degree  of  variation,  and  you  will 
sometimes  find  one  egg  pale  blue  in  ground  colour, 
speckled  with  reddish-brown,  amongst  a  clutch  of  the 
usual  colour.  The  parent  Rail  displays  silent  motions  as 
her  protective  power,  and  upon  the  least  alarm  she  quits 
her  eggs  and  makes  off  silently  through  the  herbage. 
The  bird  will  sometimes  remain  silently  sitting  upon  her 
eggs,  and  sit  so  closely  as  to  lose  her  life  by  an  unlucky 
stroke  of  the  mower's  scythe.  Landrails  will  not  un- 
frequently  remove  their  eggs  to  a  safer  retreat  if  their 
nest  is  repeatedly  disturbed.  Young  Landrails  are 
covered  with  black  down,  and  their  actions  are  fully  as 
shy  and  retiring  as  their  parents'  ;  and  if  captured  when 
only  half  matured,  they  will  bite  and  struggle  fiercely  for 
freedom. 

The  autumnal  movements  of  these  birds  are  even 
more  difficult  to  describe  than  the  vernal  ones,  simply 
because  the  birds  are  silent  for  months  before  they  quit 
their  haunts.  When  the  grass  fields  are  shorn  of  their 
crops,  and  the  hay  is  gathered  in,  the  Landrails  retreat 
to  the  clover  fields,  where  they  can  find  seclusion  amongst 


336  RURAL  BIRD   LIFE. 

its  rich  and  exuberant  growth.  They  also  frequent  the 
turnip  fields,  if  they  afford  sufficient  shelter,  and  feed  on 
the  vast  quantities  of  worms  and  snails  found  there. 
In  autumn  the  Landrail  will  take  shelter  amongst  the 
growing  corn,  but  only  as  a  last  resource,  and  when 
other  cover  is  wanting.  When  in  such  situations  it  in- 
variably comes  to  the  grass  lands  to  feed,  and  may  be 
seen  at  eventide  and  early  morning,  feeding  like  the 
Thrushes,  occasionally  holding  his  head  erect  and  look- 
ing warily  around — at  the  least  alarm  either  crouching 
low  and  fearful  to  the  earth,  or  running  through  the 
hedgerow  into  the  standing  corn.  Doubtless  the  Land- 
rail's departure  is  influenced  by  the  decay  of  the  her- 
bage. When  that  fails  his  hiding-place  is  gone,  and  he 
must  depart  to  seek  more  secluded  haunts.  As  the 
birds  probably  go  in  the  night,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  know 
whether  they  journey  in  flocks  ;  but  the  probability  is 
they  migrate  singly,  or  in  little  parties,  pushing  their  way 
in  stages,  hiding  in  the  day  time,  and  winging  their  way 
through  the  darkness  as  mysteriously  and  silently  as 
they  came.  I  have  known  the  Landrail,  in  some  few 
rare  instances,  winter  in  this  country,  but  such  instances 
are  only  exceptions  of  the  rarest  kind,  and  to  which  a 
reason  it  would  be  difficult  to  assign. 


THE  MOORHEN  AND    COOT. 

Where  Coots  in  rushy  dingles  hide, 
And  Moorhens  shun  the  day. 

THE  shy  and  retiring  Moorhen's  home  is  amongst 
the  reeds  and  dank  vegetation  by  the  water-side.  You 
get  an  occasional  glimpse  of  them  on  the  banks  of 
weedy  pools  of  stagnant  water,  or  in  the  reedy  branches 
of  canals  and  drains.  A  favourite  place,  too,  is  in  the 
tangled  marshy  bed  of  old  watercourses,  and  on  the  little 
islands  that  often  stud  fishponds  and  lakes.  Sometimes 
we  see  them  swimming  with  peculiar  bobbing  motion 
of  the  head  amongst  the  reeds  and  water-flags,  or  at 
other  times  walking  gracefully  about  the  banks,  picking 
up  their  food,  and  incessantly  jerking  their  tail.  Or  not 
unfrequently  you  see  many  of  the  birds  perched  amongst 


338  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

the  rushes  that  stud  the  shallow  pool,  p'eening  their 
plumage,  while  others  are  seen  paddling  quietly  about, 
occasionally  diving  in  search  of  food,  or  chasing  each 
other  through  the  water  for  sport,  their  peculiar  notes 
fully  harmonising  with  the  whole  scene.  The  note  of 
the  Moorhen  is  indeed  a  peculiar  one.  I  can  only 
compare  it  to  the  noise  made  by  drawing  your  thumb 
smartly  across  one  of  the  bass  strings  of  a  fiddle.  At 
the  least  alarm  they  either  dive  into  the  water,  to  reap- 
pear amongst  the  reeds,  or  run  swiftly  off,  to  seek 
safety  and  seclusion  in  the  herbage  on  the  bank. 

The  Moorhen  remains  with  us  throughout  the  year, 
although  I  am  led  to  believe  their  numbers  are  increased 
in  the  autumn  and  winter  months  by  arrivals  from 
northern  latitudes.  Morning  or  evening,  or  after  a  shower 
of  rain,  are  the  times  the  Moorhens  are  most  frequently 
seen  searching  the  grass  land  for  the  worms,  slugs,  snails, 
and  insects  which  constitute  their  chief  food  ;  although 
grass  and  other  vegetable  substances,  such  as  the  tender 
shoots  and  seeds  of  water  plants,  are  frequently  eaten. 
There  is  something  peculiarly  graceful  about  the  actions 
of  the  Moorhen  when  walking  about  the  land,  and  their  in- 
cessant jerking  of  the  tail  also  adds  to  the  gracefulness  of 
their  movements.  But,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  Moor- 
hen does  not  confine  himself  to  the  land  alone ;  he  is 
equally  at  home  on  the  water,  where  he  spends  much  of 
his  time.  Now  you  see  him  dive  for  the  tender  shoots 
of  the  water  plants  or  an  aquatic  insect  ;  then  up  again, 
to  swim  hither  and  thither,  or  float  motionless,  which  he 
often  does  for  a  long  time.  Should  danger  threaten  him 
when  on  the  water,  you  find  he  usually  dives  instantly, 
and  pursues  his  way  under  water,  and  again  ascends 
amongst  the  herbage  growing  in  the  pool,  where  he 
lurks  until  all  is  quiet  again. 


THE  MOORHEN  AND   COOT.  339 


When  in  a  semi-domesticated  state  it  is  very  pro- 
bable Moorhens  remain  in  pairs  for  life  ;  and  what  I  note 
as  peculiar  is,  no  matter  how  the  birds  are  preserved, 
still  they  do  not  increase  in  numbers  corresponding  to 
the  young  birds  hatched.  Sometimes  three  broods  are 
reared  in  a  season,  say  of  eight  birds  each  ;  still  the  next 
the  birds  are  not  seen  in  increased  numbers.  They 
must  therefore  for  the  most  part  forsake  their  birthplace 
when  they  reach  maturity,  and  seek  abodes  elsewhere — a 
circumstance  more  common,  I  am  led  to  believe,  than  is 
usually  supposed,  not  only  in  this  species,  but  in  most 
birds. 

The  Moorhen  makes  its  nest  amongst  the  herbage 
on  the  banks  of  the  water,  or  even  in  the  centre  of  the 
pool  amongst  the  water-flags.  Sometimes  they  will 
build  on  the  top  of  the  pollard  willows,  or  in  the 
branches  of  the  trees  overhanging  the  water.  It  is  a 
large  and  well-made  structure,  composed  of  the  aquatic 
herbage  and  mayhap  a  few  withered  leaves.  The  eggs, 
from  six  to  twelve  in  number,  are  rather  larger  than 
those  of  the  Landrail,  otherwise  they  closely  resemble 
them,  being  pale  reddish-white,  blotched  and  spotted 
with  purple  and  deep  red.  The  young  Moorhens,  little 
creatures  black  as  jet,  take  to  the  water  almost  as  soon 
as  hatched,  where  they  are  tended  by  their  parents  until 
they  can  forage  for  themselves,  when  they  doubtless 
quit  their  birthplace  for  localities  elsewhere. 

To  see  the  Moorhen  swimming  gracefully  over  the 
water  or  walking  with  ease  about  the  adjoining  land,  one 
would  think  he  would  be  awkwardness  itself  when  in  the 
branches  of  a  tree.  Yet  the  very  reverse  is  the  case, 
and  not  only  does  he  frequent  the  trees,  but  he  will 
often  show  a  decided  partiality  for  them.  In  the  depth 
of  winter,  when  his  favourite  pool  is  covered  with  an  icy 


3+0  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

pall,  and  the  snow  lies  deeply  over  his  wonted  feeding 
grounds,  the  Moorhen  is  ofttimes  pressed  for  food.  At 
these  times  you  often  see  him  sitting  in  the  hawthorn 
trees,  consuming  the  haws,  or  preying  upon  the  hips  of 
the  wild  rose  on  the  neighbouring  hedgerows.  Where 
the  haunt  of  the  Moorhens  is  in  wild  and  unsheltered 
places,  they  will  often  seek  shelter  amongst  the  tangled 
undergrowth  of  the  neighbouring  woods  ;  and  if  ever- 
greens are  near  at  hand,  nothing  suits  them  better  than 
to  wander  under  the  low  drooping  branches,  or,  if  need 
be,  seek  their  shelter  at  nightfall  for  repose. 

Moorhens  change  their  locality  under  the  cover  of 
darkness,  and  their  peculiar  cry  is  often  heard,  now  clear 
and  loud,  and  anon  faint  and  weird,  from  the  inky  sky 
of  night.  I  have  known  this  bird  keep  the  air  for  hours, 
coursing  hither  and  thither  through  the  darkness,  doubt- 
less seeking  a  suitable  resting-place  ;  for  otherwise,  the 
Moorhen  is  not  what  we  can  call  a  nocturnal  bird. 

The  Coot  is  a  much  larger  bird  than  the  Moorhen  : 
its  feet  are  different,  its  plumage  is  much  darker,,  and 
the  forehead  is  bare  of  feathers  and  of  a  delicate  pinky- 
white  ;  hence  the  name  of  Bald  Coot,  a  title  by  which  it 
is  commonly  known  in  those  districts  where  the  birds 
abound.  A  glance  at  the  Coot,  and  you  are  at  once 
aware  that  his  home  is  on  the  waters.  He  frequents 
the  quiet  lakes  and  ponds  of  -the  interior,  and  the  vast 
sheets  of  water  in  the  low-lying  counties  ;  so,  too,  he  is 
often  seen  in  winter  time  enlivening  the  ocean  with  his 
active  motions,  and  blackening  the  mud  flats  with  his 
numbers  when  he  repairs  at  eventide  to  rest.  But 
though  his  true  home  is  the  water,  still  he  is  active 
enough  on  the  land,  walking  about  quite  as  gracefully 
as  the  Moorhen  ;  and,  what  is  stranger  still,  when  we  look 
at  his  seemingly  awkward  feet,  he  often  perches  in  the 


THE  MOORHEN  AND   COOT.  341 


branches  of  the  trees,  and  sits  as  safe  and  unconcerned 
as  the  most  active  little  Titmouse.  This  teaches  us  that 
we  must  never  be  led  by  outward  appearances  alone  in 
forming  an  idea  of  a  bird's  habits  or  motions,  for  very 
often  the  reverse  of  our  conjectures  is  right. 

The  Coot  obtains  its  food  in  the  daytime.  You  may 
see  other  wild  fowl  dozing  away  their  time,  while  the 
Coots  are  busy  feeding,  either  in  the  waters  or  on  the 
neighbouring  grass  lands.  In  the  waters  the  Coot  feeds 
on  the  smaller  fishes — a  school  of  young  roach  or  min- 
nows is  rapidly  thinned  in  numbers.  Besides  fish,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  water  are  quantities  of  aquatic  insects, 
on  which  the  Coot  also  feeds,  for  be  it  known  he  is  an 
expert  diver  :  the  tender  shoots  of  the  water  plants  and 
their  .seeds  are  also  eaten.  When  on  the  dry  land,  the 
Coot  eats  great  quantities  of  common  meadow  grass, 
also  the  snails  and  worms  lurking  amongst  it.  Then, 
too,  when  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  ocean,  the  vast 
quantities  of  animal  matter  tenanting  the  deep  and 
thrown  up  by  its  ever  restless  waters  are  consumed. 
Though  the  Coot  occurs  in  such  abundance  in  the  winter 
season,  still  but  comparatively  few  of  the  birds  remain 
to  breed,  and  those  for  the  most  part  are  the  birds  that 
remain  in  their  haunts  throughout  the  year,  and  seldom 
or  never  congregate  with  the  migrants  from  other 
lands. 

You  rarely  indeed  find  the  nest  of  the  Coot  before 
May,  when  the  reeds  and  flags  afford  it  abundant 
shelter.  Sometimes  it  is  built  on  the  dry  land,  amongst 
the  tangled  reeds  and  grass  clothing  the  bank,  at  others 
it  will  be  built  amongst  the  rushes  growing  in  the  water, 
sometimes  its  foundation  being  commenced  under  the 
surface.  Birds  that  build  their  nests  in  these  situations 
invariably  make  a  large  and  bulky  nest,  and  the  Coot 


342  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


forms  no  exception  to  the  rule.  In  the  first  place  the 
coarse  grass  and  water-flags  are  used,  massed  together 
with  very  little  beauty,  it  is  true,  but  the  skill  cannot  be 
questioned.  As  the  nest  approaches  completion  we  find 
the  reeds  and  flags  much  finer,  and  the  cavity  which 
contains  the  eggs  is  lined  with  the  finest  materials.  In 
this  very  often  water-surrounded  and  floating  home  the 
mother  Coot  sits  upon  her  eggs.  They  are  from  eight 
to  twelve  in  number,  stone  colour,  with  deep  brown  and 
black  specks,  seldom  or  never  blotched,  and  are  about'  the 
size  of  a  Pheasant's  egg,  only  rather  different  in  shape. 

Silence  is  the  protective  power  the  Coot  most  fre- 
quently displays,  and  the  sitting  bird  either  glides  quietly 
off  into  the  reedy  fastnesses  the  instant  she  becomes 
aware  of  your  approach,  or  remains  crouching  low  and 
motionless,  trusting  in  her  silent  wiles  for  safety. 

The  young  of  the  Coot  do  not  exhibit  the  bare  patch 
on  the  forehead,  nor  do  they  until  the  following  season 
gain  it  in  the  same  perfection  as  their  parents.  We 
have  not  as  yet  the  slightest  idea  as  to  the  cause  of  this 
baldness  or  of  the  purpose  it  serves,  and  which  may  be 
said  to  be  analogous  with  the  bare  patch  at  the  base  of 
the  bill  of  a  mature  Rook,  although  I  admit  they  bear 
but  little  resemblance.  It  might  be  urged  that  the 
Coot's  incessant  collision  with  the  herbage  when  grazing, 
or  against  the  stems  and  roots  of  the  water  plants,  cause 
this  absence  of  feathers.  But  then  we  must  bear  in  mind 
that  the  Moorhen  should,  if  this  were  really  the  case,  be 
bald  also.  Many  of  the  secrets  which  existed  in  the 
life  history  of  birds,  and  their  functions  and  anatomy, 
have  been  made  plain,  and  doubtless  in  the  dim  and 
distant  future,  when  the  science  of  ornithology  approaches 
the  acme  of  its  perfection,  the  as  yet  unaccountable 
baldness  of  the  Coot  and  naked  skin  of  the  Rook  will 
satisfactorily  be  accounted  for. 


THE  SWAN. 
THERE   is    not  a  bird  in   Britain   more  graceful  in  its 

o 

motions  or  of  such  purity  of  plumage  as  the  domestic 
Swan.  Wherever  his  snow-white  plumes  and  large  and 
handsome  form  floats  buoyantly  upon  the  still  waters  the 
scene  is  far,  very  far,  enhanced  in  beauty.  No  wonder 
he  has  furnished  the  bard  of  all  ages  with  abundant 
matter  for  song ;  for  to  see  this  elegant  creature,  with 
neck  gracefully  arched,  wings  slightly  elevated,  and 
breast  parting  the  glassy  surface  of  the  water,  as  he 
starts  forward  in  successive  bounds,  is  indeed  a  sight  of 
matchless  beauty. 

The  domestic  Swan,  so  called  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  other  members  of  the  Swan  family  that  from  time 
to  time  pay  us  visits,  and  from  its  invariably  living,  in 
this  country  at  least,  under  the  protection  of  man,  is 
seen  on  the  ornamental  waters,  fishponds,  lakes,  and 


344  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

rivers.  It  is  also  known  as  the  mute  Swan,  a  name 
acquired  by  its  silent  habits,  its  only  voice  usually  being 
a  hissing  note. 

If  the  Swan  be  allowed  the  use  of  his  pinions,  he  will 
not  unfrequently  visit  neighbouring  waters.  The  Swan 
upon  the  wing  perhaps  appears  still  more  noble  than  when 
upon  the  water.  His  immense  stretch  of  wing  speedily 
carries  him  into  the  highest  ether,  and  he  pursues  his 
journey  in  safety  ;  for  there  is  not  a  bird  that  cleaves 
the  air  dare  attack  him,  save,  indeed,  of  his  own  species, 
and  from  the  fire-arms  of  man  he  is  safe  as  long  as  he 
keeps  the  sky.  When  he  is  about  to  alight  you  see 
him  gradually  descend  in  circles,  the  sunlight  causing 
his  plumage  to  shine  with  a  radiant  fairness,  and  to 
contrast  richly  with  the  deep  blue  of  heaven,  and  after 
coursing  over  the  water  for  several  times  he  finally 
alights,  and,  gracefully  folding  his  wings,  pursues  his  way, 
this  time  aided  by  his  oar-like  feet,  through  the  waters 
in  the  direction  his  wants  or  his  whims  impel. 

The  Swan  pairs  for  life,  and  each  pair  of  birds  keeps 
zealous  guard  over  certain  parts  of  the  waters,  repelling 
all  intruders  with  a  fury  unlocked  for  in  what  we  are  apt 
to  suppose  so  gentle  a  bird.  I  have  seen  two  male  Swans 
fight  with  such  fury  as  to  cover  the  water  with  foam, 
striking  at  each  other  with  their  muscular  wings,  and 
seizing  each  other's  beak  with  great  tenacity,  all  the 
time  keeping  up  a  hissing  noise.  These  combats  continue 
until  one  of  the  birds  retreats,  worn  out  and  conquered, 
leaving  the  troubled  water  covered  with  feathers,  while 
the  victor  sails  triumphantly  off",  to  guard  with  still 
greater  care  any  further  encroachment  on  his  privacy. 

Swans  do  not  always  breed  each  successive  season, 
sometimes  only  at  intervals  of  two  and  sometimes  three 
years.  If  the  water  contains  an  island,  so  much  the 


THE  SWAN.  345 


better  for  the  Swans,  who  invariably  build  their  large 
and  bulky  nest  upon  it.  It  is  placed  amongst  the  herbage 
bordering  the  water,  and  made  of  aquatic  plants,  dry 
grasses,  and  withered  leaves.  The  eggs,  as  may  be 
supposed,  are  very  large,  and  from  five  to  seven  in 
number,  olive-green  without  markings.  In  most  birds 
when  the  eggs  are  deposited  we  find  they  never  do 
anything  further  to  the  nest,  but  with  the  Swan  it  is 
different.  As  incubation  proceeds,  the  sitting  bird  gathers 
all  the  herbage  within  reach  of  its  beak,  and  adds  it  to 
the  bottom  part  of  the  structure,  so  that  when  the  eggs 
are  hatched  the  nest  is  probably  many  inches  higher 
than  when  they  were  first  laid.  I  can  only  account  for 
this  strange  procedure  by  classing  it  amongst  the 
many  protective  arts  displayed  by  birds  in  connection 
with  their  nests.  For  as  the  Swan  invariably,  or  nearly 
so,  builds  her  nest  close  to  the  water's  edge,  any  sudden 
rise  of  the  waters  would  probably  mean  the  destruction 
of  her  eggs,  so  she  prepares  for  the  emergency  in  the 
above  rather  remarkable  manner.  Even  though  her 
nest  be  away  from  the  water  she  still  displays  this  pecu- 
liarity, for  she  is  prompted  to  do  so  by  an  imperative  and 
resistless  impulse  within  her,  irrespective  of  the  situation. 
Both  birds  sit  upon  the  eggs,  although  the  female  does 
so  most  frequently,  the  male  bird  merely  relieving  her 
while  she  seeks  her  food.  The  male  bird  is  also  the 
sentinel,  and  woe  betide  any  unfortunate  bird  or  animal 
that  comes  suspiciously  near  the  nest.  Even  man  him- 
self is  not  respected,  and  the  birds  will  hiss,  or  even  attack 
him,  if  he  still  persists  in  his  approach. 

The  young  of  the  Swan  are  called  Cygnets,  and  they 
differ  vastly  from  their  parents.  Instead  of  wearing  a 
snow-white  garb,  like  them,  they  are  clothed  in  plumage 
brown  and  dingy,  yet  withal  they  bear  a  certain  swan- 


346  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

like  look,  and  their  carriage  distinguishes  them  from  more 
ignoble  birds.  In  their  infancy  it  is  no  uncommon  thing 
to  see  the  mother  bird  with  several  of  her  young  on  her 
back,  conveying  them  through  the  water  :  the  same  thing 
often  occurs  on  the  dry  land,  the  parent  bird  assisting 
them  to  mount.  The  old  Swans  tend  their  young, 
forage  for  them,  fight  for  them,  and  shield  them  with  the 
greatest  care,  for  the  first  season.  After  that  period  has 
passed  all  affection  for  them  appears  to  cease,  and  the 
old  birds  drive  their  offspring  away  as  so  many  intruders. 
The  young  Swans  have  now  but  a  sorry  time  of  it,  and 
are  perpetually  harassed  by  their  parents,  who  pursue 
them  the  instant  they  take  to  the  water.  Upon  reaching 
maturity  the  young  birds  pair  and  take  possession  of 
certain  parts  of  the  waters,  and  they  in  their  turn  become 
the  oppressors. 

The  food  of  the  Swan  is  for  the  most  part  composed 
of  vegetable  substances.  The  birds  are  seen  grazing 
upon  the  banks  of  the  waters,  and,  aided  by  their  long 
necks,  securing  the  tender  shoots  of  the  water  plants 
growing  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool.  The  seeds  of  water 
plants  are  also  eaten,  as  are  also  various  forms  of 
aquatic  insect  life.  The  Swan  has  also  a  partiality  for 
fish,  and  I  have  seen  them  catch  and  swallow  whole, 
young  tench  ;  and  even  the  perch,  with  all  his  array  of 
spines  and  scaly  armour,  is  not  safe  from  their  attacks. 


EVERGREENS  AND  BIRD  LIFE.  347 


EVERGREENS  AND  BIRD    LIFE. 

HE  who  studies  animate  and  inanimate  Nature  in  all 
its  bearings  will  find  relations  of  the  most  complex 
character  existing  between  widely  different  objects. 
That  such  relations,  for  instance,  exist  between  ever- 
green plants  and  birds,  is  manifest  to  every  observer  ot 
Nature ;  and  to  this  subject,  therefore,  I  intend  devoting 
a  few  of  the  pages  of  this  little  volume,  partly  with  the 
view  of  furthering  the  cultivation  of  evergreens,  whose 
ornamental  qualities  equal,  if  they  do  not  exceed,  any 
other  objects  of  the  sylvan  world,  and  partly  to  encourage 
the  protection  of  the  smaller  birds  around  us. 

Those  insessorial  birds  whose  hardy  temperament 
allows  them  to  remain  on  our  shores  at  all  seasons  of  the 
year,  naturally  require  some  place  of  safety  whither  to 
retire  from  the  strife  of  the  warring  elements  in  the 
winter  months.  Can  we  conceive  of  anything  more 
suitable  for  this  purpose  and  meeting  all  conditions  than 
the  ever  verdant  evergreen,  which  at  all  times  of  the  year 
is  found  clothed  in  beautiful  foliage.  When  November's 
blasts  have  robbed  other  trees  of  their  arboreal  covering, 
and  all  is  cold  and  cheerless,  the  holly,  yew,  ivy,  or 
stately  fir  spread  out  their  foliage,  enticing  by  their 
warmth  and  shelter  the  feathered  tribes  in  countless 
numbers.  If,  therefore,  these  useful  trees  were  absent 
from  our  land,  the  number  of  resident  birds  and  winter 
visitants  would  greatly  decrease.  In  summer  the 


34B  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

presence  of  evergreens  is  not  so  much  needed,  for  the 
sun,  being  higher  in  the  heavens,  has  greater  power,  and 
vegetable  life  is  at  its  acme  of  vigour,  and  affords  in  part 
the  shelter  required.  But  in  winter  what  a  change 
occurs  !  How  bare  the  leafless  trees  and  hedgerows  ! 
The  evergreens  now  stand  out  prominent  as  friendly 
beacons,  offering  harbours  of  refuge  for  every  weary 
songster  that  seeks  their  shelter.  Birds  may,  however, 
be  seen  in  small  numbers  enlivening  the  woods  and  hedge- 
rows with  their  presence  in  the  daytime  ;  but  whither  go 
these  feathered  creatures  when  the  sun  sinks  below  the 
western  horizon  ? — To  the  nearest  belt  of  shrubbery  or 
cluster  of  evergreens,  where,  amid  the  luxuriant  foliage 
they  remain  safe  from  enemies  and  cold  until  morning 
dawns,  when  their  several  requirements  lead  them  forth 
anew  amongst  the  more  exposed  and  leafless  tracts  of 
country. 

He  who  would  wish  to  encourage  the  feathered  tribes 
around  him  should  pay  special  care  and  attention  to  the 
cultivation  of  evergreens  ;  for,  not  to  speak  of  their 
exceedingly  ornamental  qualities,  they  afford  food,  pro- 
tection, shelter,  and  nesting-sites  for  great  numbers  of 
insessorial  birds.  How  often  we  admire  with  heartfelt 
pleasure  the  thick  masses  of  scarlet  berries  upon  the 
holly,  the  more  sparsely  distributed  fruit  of  the  yew, 
the  clustering  berries  of  the  ivy,  or  the  more  sober-tinted 
but  still  not  less  beautiful  cones  of  the  fir.  Many  admire 
them  because  of  the  festive  season  at  which  they  are 
held  in  such  high  repute  ;  but  to  him  who  loves  to  study 
bird  life  in  its  ever  varying  phases  they  will  ever 
appear  as  storehouses  furnished  by  Nature  for  the  fea- 
thered tribes  when  other  kinds  of  food  are  wanting. 
Observe  with  what  avidity  the  various  Thrushes  consume 
the  fruit  of  the  holly,  ivy,  or  yew.  Notice  the  number 


EVERGREENS  AND  BIRD  LIFE.  349 

of  fringilline  birds  that  frequent  the  cone-bearing  fir  tree 
— from  the  tiny  Titmouse  to  the  larger  Finches.  Many 
other  birds,  when  driven  by  hunger — '  necessity's  supreme 
command  ' — prey  upon  the  fruit  of  these  evergreen  trees 
and  shrubs. 

A  word  as  to  the  nesting  facilities  afforded  by  the 
evergreen.  Early  breeding  birds,  such  as  the  Thrush, 
Blackbird,  and  Hedge  Accentor,  naturally  seek  some 
warm  and  sheltered  place  for  the  cradle  of  their  young, 
at  a  season  when  cold  weather  is  of  far  from  unfrequent 
occurrence :  concealment,  too,  is  wanted.  Evergreens 
amply  fulfil  all  these  conditions ;  hence  we  invariably 
find  the  first  nests  of  the  season  snugly  located  amongst 
the  holly,  yew,  laurel,  or  ivy.  The  delicate  little  Gold 
Crest  and  sprightly  Chaffinch  make  frequent  use  of  these 
trees  and  shrubs  for  domestic  purposes  ;  and  as  the  year 
rolls  on,  the  Greenfinch  and  active  little  Wren,  doubtless 
drawn  hither  by  security  and  concealment,  hatch  and 
rear  their  young  in  peace  and  safety.  These  are  but  a 
few  of  the  many  birds  using  evergreens  for  their  purpose 
Close  attention  will  reveal  a  goodly  list,  amongst  them 
being  many  of  our  shyest  and  rarest  birds.  Again,  the 
circumstance  of  birds  repairing  to  these  situations  no 
doubt  greatly  shields  their  eggs  and  young  from  pre- 
daceous  animals,  as  the  cat,  weasel,  and  brown  rat  ;  for 
even  these  freebooters  are  kept  at  bay  by  foliage  so 
dense  and  impenetrable. 

The  careful  observer  will  not  fail  to  notice  that  on 
the  advent  of  keen  weather  birds  'are  uncommonlv 
numerous  in  shrubberies  and  other  places  where  ever- 
greens abound,  only  emerging  from  their  retreats  when 
nature  requires  a  further  supply  of  food.  Amongst 
evergreens  birds  in  the  winter  months  sing  more  fre- 
quently, and  their  song,  in  my  opinion,  is  louder  and 


350  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

more  free  than  the  music  of  birds  elsewhere.  Thus  he 
who  loves  to  cultivate  the  evergreen  on  his  domains, 
and  molests  not  the  feathered  tribes  encouraged  by  the 
seclusion  and  retirement  offered  to  them  that  flock  so 
freely  to  his  shrubberies,  will  seldom  fail  to  have  abun- 
dance of  bird  music  around  him,  be  the. weather  never  so 
unpropitious  or  the  season  unfavourable  for  bird  melody  ; 
and  as  the  vernal  year  approaches  he  will  hear  the  love 
song  of  the  Bunting  and  Chaffinch  and  other  birds  long 
before  they  dare  commence  in  more  exposed  situations. 
Pause,  gentle  reader,  let  imagination  captivate  thee 
for  a  brief  period,  and  accompany  me  this  cold  and 
cheerless  January  evening  into  a  dense  and  well-stocked 
shrubbery.  The  notes  of  the  feathered  tribes  are 
sounding  in  all  directions.  Perched  on  a  stately  tree, 
the  Stormcock  is  giving  forth  his  powerful  notes,  notes 
which,  although  slightly  monotonous,  still  never  pall. 
There  a  Cole  Titmouse  is  uttering  harsh  and  grating  cries 
as  it  searches  the  evergreens  for  stray  insects  ;  while 
Robins  in  all  directions  are  pouring  forth  their  tuneful 
melody.  A  Song-thrush  from  yonder  towering  holly  is 
piping  his  mellow  notes  in  all  his  varied  splendour.  Little 
Wrens  are  noisy  too ;  the  sprightly  Chaffinch,  noisy  Black- 
bird, and  yelping  Redwing  also  swell  the  concert  with 
their  notes.  As  night  approaches  the  scene  becomes 
much  more  animated  ;  on  every  side  our  feathered  friends 
are  seen,  and  their  varied  notes  fill  the  air  with  pleasing 
sounds.  The  sun  is  just  sinking  behind  the  western  hills 
in  an  ethereal  sea  of  gold,  and  instinct  prompts  the 
birds  to  seek  out  their  roosting  places.  All  is  now 
silent,  save  the  yelping  call  of  the  Redwing  and  the 
sharp  call  notes  of  the  Robin  and  Wren.  Ever  and 
anon  a  Thrush  is  seen  darting  downwards  into  the 
dense  and  friendly  shelter  of  the  yew  or  holly,  while 


EVERGREENS  AND  BIRD   LIFE.  351 

the  chirping  Sparrows  have  found  a  safe  retreat  amongst 
the  clustering  ivy.  There  a  company  of  Tits  is 
seen,  wanderers  no  doubt  throughout  the  day,  settling 
into  the  nearest  evergreens  at  night.  Redwings 
regularly  repair  to  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  holly, 
while  the  gay  little  Chaffinches  are  seen  seeking  the 
dark  canopy  of  the  yew.  The  dusky  form  of  the 
Blackbird  is  now  seen  flitting  hither  and  thither  in  the 
gloom,  uttering  his  well-known  cries,  which  sound 
wonderfully  clear  and  startling  in  the  calm  and  frosty 
evening  air.  The  waning  day  is  fast  disappearing,  and 
the  moon  has  commenced  shedding  her  borrowed  rays 
upon  the  scene.  A  Redwing  comes  hastily  into  the 
bush  under  which  we  are  standing  :  quickly  perceiving 
us,  he  utters  a  call  note  of  alarm  and  is  off  to  seek  more 
suitable  quarters.  A  party  of  Greenfinches  now  locate 
themselves  in  this  spreading  yew,  while  the  Starlings 
hastily  retreat  into  the  ivy  growing  so  densely  round 
yon  hoary  ash.  In  the  deepest  solitudes  we  hear  the 
piping  cry  of  the  Bullfinch,  or  hear  his  soft  and  plaintive 
note  calling  to  his  mate  close  at  hand.  Above  our 
heads  the  Cushats,  from  the  fields  a  mile  away,  are 
winging  their  way  to  a  favourite  haunt  in  the  pine's 
gloomy  branches  :  silent  at  this  season,  their  rustling 
wings  are  the  only  sounds  we  hear.  The  Wren  utters 
his  few  last  notes,  and  seeks  the  safety  of  the  wide 
spreading  laurel's  branches.  Now  the  Redwings  arrive 
en  masse.  A  late  feeding  bird  are  they,  and  as  a  rule 
seldom  seen  near  their  roosting  place,  save  one  or  two 
pioneers,  till  darkness  is  close  at  hand.  See  them 
settle  on  the  tallest  underwood,  uttering  their  well-known 
notes,  and  after  a  brief  reconnoitre  silently  flying  into 
the  desired  roosting  place.  A  Robin  is  singing  his 
requiem  to  the  parting  day  ere  he  seeks  repose  in  the 


352  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

yew  on  which  he  is  warbling.  The  Rooks,  having  kept 
up  a  Babel  of  sounds,  retire  to  the  stately  firs,  and  all  for 
a  time  is  silent.  Now  a  Magpie,  disturbing  the  almost 
solemn  stillness  with  his  harsh  chattering  notes,  warily 
enters  the  looming  crown  of  yonder  pine  ;  and  in  the 
distance  we  hear  the  Jays,  noisy  as  is  their  wont  at 
nightfall,  settling  down  to  rest  in  some  favourite  and 
lofty  holly.  Silence  finally  reigns  supreme,  only  broken 
by  the  murmuring  of  the  west  wind  as  it  kisses  the 
evergreens  with  its  gentle  breath,  and  sighs  mournfully 
and  low  round  the  naked  branches  in  its  passage  up  this 
calm  and  peaceful  valley. 

Thus,  gentle  reader,  thou  hast  seen  that  some  birds 
retire  to  the  holly,  others  to  the  yew  or  laurel,  while  others 
nightly  seek  the  dark  foliage-capped  fir,  while  yet  again 
many  repair  to  the  ever  trailing  ivy  for  their  purpose — 
hast  seen  that,  provided  sufficient  accommodation  be 
found  for  them,  all  the  birds  of  the  locality  will  repair  to 
the  shrubberies  of  evergreens,  to  nestle  amongst  their 
perennial  branches.  I  may  also  inform  thee,  that  shouldst 
thou  have  a  taste  for  ornithology,  as  I  trust  thou  hast, 
that  shouldst  thou  make  frequent  practice  of  roaming 
through  plantations  of  this  description,  thou  wilt  be 
enabled  to  greatly  increase  thy  knowledge  of  the 
feathered  tribes,  enticed  thither  by  the  seclusion,  pro- 
tection, and  concealment  thy  perennial  thickets  afford  ; 
for  in  their  arboreal  depths  is  the  chosen  place  for  ani- 
mated nature.  Even  when  the  summer  sun  is  smiling 
around  us,  thou  hast  seen  that  evergreens  still  play  an 
important  part  in  the  economy  of  the  feathered  race,  for 
many  a  sylvan  songster  warbles  incessantly  from  their 
glossy  spiays,.,  while  in  safety  sits  his  mate  upon  her 
home,  embosomed  amidst  their  foliage. 

In  conclusion,  gentle  reader,  I  trust  I   have  shown 


EVERGREENS  AND  BIRD  LIFE.  353 


thee  how  closely  the  evergreen  is  connected  with  bird 
life — how  closely  its  ever  verdant  branches  are  linked 
with  the  welfare  of  the  birds  of  the  field — birds  that  are 
to  be  met  with  almost  everywhere  we  bend  our  steps, 
and  which,  if  it  were  not  for  these  perennial  vegetable 
safeguards,  would  probably  be  denied  an  existence  on 
our  shores  save  when  the  sun  is  shining  in  the  northern 
tropic. 


A  A 


354  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


HINTS    TO    ORNITHOLOGISTS. 

Nature  never  did  betray  the  heart  that  loved  her. 

A  HINT  ofttimes  proves  of  the  greatest  service,  and  it 
is  in  this  belief  that  I  pen  down  the  following  few 
remarks,  trusting  that  they  will  be  of  benefit  to  the 
novice,  and  aid  him  in  the  difficulties  that  will  befall 
him  more  or  less  on  the  threshold  of  the  science  he  has 
adopted. 

In  the  first  place,  a  few  general  hints  for  the  field, 
together  with  one  or  two  instructions  how  best  to  attain 
an  insight  into  the  habits  of  birds,  will  doubtless  be  of 
service.  The  observer  cannot  do  better  than  provide 
himself  with  a  first-class  telescope  or  field-glass,  which, 
like  his  note-book,  should  be  his  inseparable  tompanion. 
Morning  and  evening  will  be  found  the  best  times  for 
'  field  service,'  although  a  stroll  taken  at  no  matter  what 
hour  of  the  day  is,  to  an  observer  who  makes  the  best 
use  of  his  eyes  and  ears,  always  productive  of  interest  and 
information.  As  ornithology  and  oology  are  in  my 
opinion  inseparable,  both  will  be  treated  with  under  one 
head  ;  and  therefore  the  observer,  if  information  be  the 
sole  object  he  seeks,  must  be  prepared  to  explore  many  a 
perilous  cliff,  and  climb  numbers  of  the  loftiest  trees,  for 
the  purpose  of  prying  into  the  nesting  economy  of  various 
birds.  But  with  the  latter  mode  of  observation  especially 
I  would  pray  him  to  use  the  greatest  caution,  and  make 


HINTS   TO   ORNITHOLOGISTS.  355 

himself  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  several  trees 
whose  branches  he  explores.  He  will  then  mount  fear- 
lessly up  tKe  oak's  sturdy  limbs,  and  trust  himself  safely 
to  the  short  dead  branches  of  the  pine.  He  will  view 
the  treacherous  limbs  of  the  elm  with  mistrust,  and 
cautiously  commit  himself  to  the  brittle  and  unstable 
alder.  The  weeping  birchen  twigs  will  sustain  him 
without  danger,  but  he  will  view  with  suspicion  the 
somewhat  unreliable  branches  of  the  beech.  And  so  he 
will  acquaint  himself  with  these  various  little  items,  and 
profit  accordingly  by  them.  Even  when  treading  the 
dreary  swamp  he  can  pass  safely  and  almost  dryshod  by 
stepping  on  the  reed  tufts,  and  thus  approach  closely 
the  objects  he  seeks.  One  of  the  best  modes  of  observ- 
ing the  actions  of  birds  is  from  the  branches  of  trees 
well  concealed  by  the  foliage.  My  own  love  for  arboreal 
celsitude  has  served  me  well,  some  of  my  most  remark- 
able observations  having  been  made,  when  seated  in  the 
branches,  viewing  animated  nature,  unknown  and  unseen, 
from  the  deepest  foliage. 

The  various  haunts  of  birds  at  different  times  of  the 
year  must  also  be  made  acquaintance  with.  Then  the 
observer  by  his  previously  acquired  knowledge  can  find 
any  particular  bird  his  fancy  dictates  or  his  wants  re- 
quire. Thus  in  seed  time  he  will  repair  to  the  newly 
sown  land  if  he  wishes  to  see  the  Bunting  and  Chaffinch ; 
yet  at  nightfall  he  will  just  as  surely  find  them  amongst 
the  evergreen's  perennial  foliage.  In  winter  time  he  will 
repair  to  the  meadows  and  turnip  fields  if  he  wishes  a 
sight  of  the  Meadow  Pipit ;  but  in  summer  he  must 
seek  it  on  the  far-stretching  and  barren  moor,  where  it 
retires  at  that  season  to  rear  its  young.  In  the  autumn 
he  will  find  the  birch  coppices  replete  with  Titmice  and 
Gold  Crests,  but  in  the  winter  they  frequent  the  hedge- 


356  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 


rows  and  forest  trees  ;  while  in  summer  he  will  find  the 
Titmice  where  decayed  timber  is  abundant,  and  the 
Kinglets  either  amongst  the  evergreens  or  far  away  on 
the  borders  of  the  moors,  nesting  in  the  fir  plantations. 
He  will  find  the  Willow  Warblers  and  Blackcaps  amongst 
the  tangled  vegetation  of  the  woods  ;  but  if  he  visits  the 
fruit  gardens  in  autumn,  his  little  feathered  friends  will 
be  there  to  greet  him.  And  so  I  might  proceed,  giving 
cases  almost  without  number  under  this  particular  head, 
where  the  observer  by  a  close  attention  to  his  subject 
can  read  truthfully  and  unerringly  the  habits  of  the 
feathered  race — attention  which  must  be  given  at  all 
times  and  seasons,  and  with  unwearying  care,  if  he 
desires  to  be  in  ornithology  what  Canova  was  in  sculp- 
ture or  Rubens  in  painting — namely,  a  proficient  and  a 
master. 

How  easy  of  acquisition  could  I  make  the  identifica- 
tion of  the  many  feathered  creatures  the  aspiring  ornitho- 
logist will  meet  with  in  his  rambles,  did  I  possess  the  art 
of  faithfully  representing  on  paper  their  many  and  varied 
notes.  But  this  is  impossible,  and  I  fear  will  ever 
remain  so.  The  only  means  of  acquiring  such  know- 
ledge rests  with  the  observer  himself,  and  I  may  say  is 
one  of  the  steps  that  leads  to  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
ornithology.  It  is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  the 
observer  should  make  himself  acquainted  with  the  song 
and  call  notes  of  every  bird  around  him.  He  is  then  in 
a  position  to  at  once  recognise  any  particular  bird ;  and 
if  displaying  any  previously  unknown  habit,  it  is  imme- 
diately'brought  home'  to  the  proper  species,  even  though 
a  close  identification  were  impossible.  For  instance,  I,  by 
a  close  attention  to  the  notes  of  the  Rook,  can  discrimi- 
nate between  the  peaceful  caw  with  which  she  welcomes 
her  mate  or  speaks  condolence  to  her  little  onee,  from 


HINTS  TO   ORMTHOLOGISTS.  357 

the  harsh  and  discordant  caws  she  utters  when  an  in- 
truder wanders  under  the  tree  which  contains  her  home, 
or  when  a  Hawk  is  lingering  suspiciously  near — can  tell 
in  a  moment  when  she  is  receiving  food  from  her  loving 
partner,  or  simply  calling  to  her  sable  kindred  around 
her.  Again,  when  I  hear  the  Chaffinch's  sharp  call 
notes  in  the  nesting  season  ringing  out  so  anxiously,  and 
in  quick  succession,  I  know  at  once  that  some  dire 
calamity  is  threatening  her  little  home,  and  I  hasten  to 
assist  her  in  repelling  the  disturber  of  her  family  cares. 
I  hear  the  inexpressibly  low  and  sweet  call  notes  of  the 
little  Willow  Warbler  as  she  courses  over  a  neighbouring 
bush,  clothed  in  the  garb  which  May  bequeaths,  and  I 
know  her  home  is  not  far  away.  Or  sometimes  the 
Stormcock  flits  anxiously  from  tree  to  tree,  uttering  her 
unmusical  cries,  and  I  am  then  aware  her  young  are 
near  at  hand.  When  the  Blackbird  gives  forth  his  bold 
call  notes  I  know  he  has  just  been  flushed,  and  is  flying 
off  to  more  secluded  quarters  ;  for  by  my  knowledge 
previously  gained  I  know  he  never  utters  these  peculiar 
notes  save  when  on  the  wing  and  alarmed.  I  need  not 
enlarge  upon  this  subject  further,  but  will  conclude  by 
saying  that  almost  every  bird  with  which  I  am  acquainted 
utters  peculiar  notes  under  certain  circumstances,  and  I 
will  leave  to  the  young  ornithologist  the  pleasant  task  of 
finding  them  out  for  himself. 

A  word  as  to  the  habits  of  birds.  As  the  student 
progresses  in  a  knowledge  of  his  subject  he  will  be  able, 
when  he  sees  a  bird  performing  various  motions,  to  tell 
at  once  what  the  bird  is  engaged  in.  If  he  sees  the 
Kestrel  hovering  on  quivering  wing  over  the  fields  and 
hedgerows  in  early  summer,  he  will  know  that  the  bird  is 
searching  for  the  mice  in  the  meadow  grass  to  supply  its 
hungry  young  with  food.  If  he  sees  the  Rooks  flying 


358  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

over  the  nesting  trees  in  a  compact  body  in  the  breed- 
ing season,  his  knowledge  will  inform  him  that  all  is 
not  right,  and  that  some  intruder  is  disturbing  the  ever 
watchful  colony.  If  he  sees  the  Sandpiper  or  Plover 
tumbling  and  reeling  about  before  him,  he  will  know  the 
wary  bird  is  endeavouring  to  lure  him  from  her  treasured 
eggs  or  young.  Should  he  see  the  Swallows  flying  high 
above  him  in  the  azure  vault  of  heaven,  he  will  know 
that 'fine  weather  is  at  hand,  or  vice  versa  ;  for  after 
studying  their  habits  at  various  times,  he  knows  the 
insects  which  compose  their  food  are  acted  upon  by  the 
weather  in  the  altitude  of  their  flight.  And  thus  we 
might  go  on  ;  for  not  a  single  action  of  any  member  of 
the  vast  feathered  race  is  observed,  but  what  is  attended 
with  a  long  string  of  interesting  facts,  did  we  know  how 
to  read  them  aright.  It  is  only  by  the  closest  attention, 
and  by  comparing  one  observation  with  another,  that  we 
are  enabled  to  read  as  it  were  the  many  and  varied 
habits  of  birds,  from  their  actions  at  various  times  and 
seasons,  and  under  different  circumstances. 

To  obtain  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  birds  of  the 
field,  the  greatest  attention  must  be  paid  to  comparative 
anatomy,  for  by  its  aid  we  are  enabled  to  solve  or  rebut 
some  of  the  deepest  questions  affecting  the  economy  of 
birds. 

It  has  been  ofttimes  asserted  that  the  Water  Ousel  is 
capable  of  walking  at  the  bottom  of  the  stream  ;  but  he 
who  closely  observes  this  sub-aquatic  little  bird  will  find 
that  its  passage  under  the  surface  of  the  stream  is  per- 
formed by  the  aid  of  its  short  wings — much  as  ducks  do 
when  sporting  and  gamboling  in  the  pool.  The  notion 
of  the  bird's  powers  of  walking  under  water  is  proved  to 
be  erroneous  by  Newton's  theory  of  gravitation,  and  all 
known  laws  of  animal  mechanics.  I  bring  this  instance 


HINTS   TO   ORNITHOLOGISTS.  359 

forward  as  one  amongst  numbers,  to  show  that  even 
in  the  simple  habits  of  a  bird  some  of  the  grandest 
laws  known  to  man  work  most  potently,  and  silently 
condemn  the  erroneous  statements  made  by  the  mis- 
informed. 

This  little  bird  (Dipper)  also  illustrates  the  fallacy 
of  the  belief  that  the  oil  gland  of  birds,  situated  at  the 
root  of  the  tail,  is  used  for  lubricating  their  plumage. 
He  who  dissects  the  Dipper  will  find  this  gland  no 
larger  than  the  gland  found  on  our  land  Thrushes  ;  yet 
we  should  suppose  that  if  such  organ  were  used  for 
lubricating  purposes  that  it  would  attain  to  a  much 
larger  development  through  the  wants  of  its  sub-aquatic 
owner — proof  sufficient,  therefore,  that  such  is  not  the 
case.  Again,  the  strong  arguments  that  can  be  brought 
forward  against  the  contents  of  such  gland  being  used 
for  oiling  the  plumage  are  so  overwhelming,  and  the 
few  facts  we  are  able  to  glean  bearing  on  this  subject  are 
so  directly  opposed  to  such  a  line  of  belief,  that  the 
wonder  is  it  has  been  entertained  so  popularly  and  so 
long. 

As  to  the  pleasures  derived  from  pursuing  the 
science  of  ornithology  in  Nature's  interminable  range, 
there  are  delights  the  field  ornithologist  experiences 
quite  unknown  to  his  stay-at-home  namesake.  For 
instance,  what  a  thrill  of  pride  courses  through  him  as 
he  clings  to  the  topmost  branches  of  the  tallest  pine 
tree,  making  himself  acquainted  with  the  rude  cradle  of 
the  Sparrowhawk ;  or  when  examining  the  beautiful  and 
richly  marked  eggs  of  the  Windhover,  laid  bare  and 
nestless  in  the  Magpie's  old  abode,  some  sixty  feet  or 
more  in  the  branches  of  a  towering  oak.  When,  if  ever, 
do  our  closet  naturalists  inspect  these  lovely  objects 
in  their  elevated  cradle  ?  Again,  how  elated  the  field 


360  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

naturalist  will  feel  when,  after  hours  of  patient  watching, 
he  gets  a  sight  of  a  troop  of  timid  Jays,  or  the  Wood- 
pecker busy  in  his  search  for  food  on  some  noble  tree. 
How  elated  when  scaling  the  cliff's  rugged  side  in  search 
of  sea  birds'  eggs  ;  or,  tramping  over  the  wild  and  barren 
moor,  he  flushes  the  Snipe  or  Ring  Ousel  from  their 
heathery  bed,  or  startles  the  Curlew  from  its  meal  in  the 
fathomless  marsh  !  We  might  enlarge  upon  this  subject 
ad  infinitum,  but  to  a  field  naturalist  these  pleasures  are 
well  known,  and  to  the  closet  personage  uncared  for. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  who  takes  Nature  for  his 
tutor  will  experience  delights  indescribable  from  every 
animate  and  inanimate  object  of  the  universe  ;  from  the 
tiny  blades  of  grass  to  the  largest  forest  tree — the 
tiniest  living  atom,  seemingly  without  form  or  purpose, 
to  its  gigantic  relation  of  much  higher  development. 
The  pages  of  Nature's  mighty  book  are  unrolled  to  the 
view  of  every  man  who  cares  to  haunt  her  sanctuaries. 
The  doctrine  it  teaches  is  universal,  pregnant  with  truth, 
endless  in  extent,  eternal  in  duration,  and  full  of  the 
widest  variety.  Upon  the  earth  it  is  illustrated  by  end- 
less forms  beautiful  and  grand,  and  in  the  trackless 
ether  above,  the  stars  and  suns  and  moons  gild  its  im- 
mortal pages. 

The  closet  naturalist  takes  much  more  pride  in 
determining  new  species,  giving  them  jaw-breaking 
names,  measuring  with  rule  and  compass  the  dried  and 
withered  skins,  which  bear  the  indelible  stamp  of  hideous 
deformity,  or  writing  long  treatises  on  the  habits  of  birds 
and  animals  that  seem  to  look  on  in  withering  scorn 
from  their  cases  around  him.  All  this  is  deemed  highly 
scientific  by  his  brother  savants  ;  but,  my  word  upon  it, 
no  person  can  form  the  slightest  idea  of  the  habits  of 
birds  and  animals  from  books  written  by  such  persons  ; 


HL\TS   TO   ORNITHOLOGISTS.  361 

and  he  who  professes  to  instruct  us  in  their  varied  habits, 
if  he  be  not  one  of  good  Dame  Nature's  school,  had  far 
better  employ  his  time  and  brains  in  something  less  liable 
to  damage  the  cause  of  natural  history. 

These  remarks,  though  severe,  are  just;  for  it  is  this 
class  of  writers  who  so  seriously  damage  and  retard  the 
progress  of  ornithology  ;  who  gravely  inform  us  that  our 
Wagtails  never  perch  on  trees  ;  that  our  Coots  are 
clumsy  objects  on  the  land  ;  that  our  Kestrel  Hawks 
build  nests,  and  our  Sparrowhawks  take  possession  of 
deserted  Crows'  nests  ;  that  our  Starlings  and  Lapwings 
tap  the  ground  with  their  feet  to  frighten  out  the  earth 
worms  beneath  the  surface ;  that  our  little  brown 
Flycatcher  is  songless ;  and  a  thousand  other  errors,  as 
inconsistent  with  known  facts  as  they  are  ridiculous. 

But  let  us  hope  better  days  are  in  store  for  ornitho- 
logy, and  that  when  these  ill  weeds  are  rooted  from  her 
literature,  then  she  will  bloom  in  ever  maiden  fairness, 
and  reach  the  zenith  of  her  fame.  Much  needs  to  be 
done  ;  vast  fields  occur  in  ,all  parts  of  the  world,  offering 
unlimited  scope  for  a  whole  army  of  devoted  workers. 
Even  in  our  own  land  the  vineyard  is  not  worked  out, 
great  as  have  been  the  strides  of  improvement  taking 
place  of  late  years  ;  and  on  every  side  facts,  fresh  and  new 
as  the  morning's  dawn,  await  those  who  labour  in  her 
cause. 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

My  object  in  giving  to  the  public  these  few  hints  is 
in  the  hope  that  many  a  young  naturalist  may  find  them 
as  useful  as  I,  who  have  followed  this  delightful  subject 
in  Nature's  lovely  garden  for  years,  have  found  them  in 
regularly  practising  them.  Therefore,  gentle  reader,  if 
thou  art,  by  reading  these  few  hints,  drawn  into  a  study 


362  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

of  the  subject  they  embrace,  mayest  thou  enjoy  some  of 
thy  pleasantest  hours  in  following  it ;  for  be  they  spent 
in  the  smiling  fields,  among  beetling  crags,  in  the  dense 
and  impenetrable  forest,  on  the  shores  of  the  mighty 
deep,  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  trembling  morass,  or  on 
the  barren  moor  and  arid  plain,  thou  wilt  not  fail  to 
find  objects  of  thy  quest  exhibiting  plumage,  form,  and 
habits,  ever  changing  and  diversified. 


INSTRUCTIONS  FOR    THE    PRESERVATION  OF 
ORNITHOLOGICAL    OBJECTS. 

No  matter  in  what  section  of  natural  history  the 
student  pursues  his  studies,  it  is  imperative  that  he 
should  have  specimens  illustrating  his  peculiar  line  of 
research,  and  which  I  would  advise  him,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  collect  himself.  Yet,  however  many  objects 
he  may  collect,  they  are  comparatively  worthless  if  not 
prepared  and  arranged  in  a  scientific  and  orderly 
manner.  I  intend,  therefore,  to  devote  the  concluding 
pages  of  this  little  work  to  the  way  in  which  the  ornitho- 
logical student — for  I  consider  oology  and  ornithology 
as  inseparable — may  best  attain  these  results ;  and  as  the 
eggs  of  birds  are  easier  to  obtain  than  the  birds  them- 
selves, and  will  probably  be  the  most  interesting  to  the 
beginner,  they  first  shall  claim  our  attention. 

I  need  not  dwell  on  the  method  of  searching  for  eggs 
and  nests,  for  that  can  be  found  by  experience  an  1 
surrounding  circumstances  alone ;  but  I  will,  in  the  first 
place,  briefly  glance  at  the  instruments  used  in  emptying 
the  egg  of  its  contents.  It  was  formerly  the  custom  tc 


364  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

make  two  holes  in  the  egg,  one  at  either  end  ;  then  two 
holes  in  the  side  were  used  ;  and  finally,  at  the  present 
time,  but  one  hole  is  used  to  withdraw  the  contents,  and 
eggs  otherwise  blown  are  far  less  valuable.  To  make 
the  hole  in  the  shell  a  drill  is  used  (see  Fig.  i),  and  the 
contents  are  removed  by  the  aid  of  a  blowpipe  (see 
Fig.  2).  The  former  of  these  two  instruments  is  made  of 
steel,  and  the  latter  of  glass,  or  metal — the  latter  material 
being  preferable,  as  will  shortly  be  seen. 

Having  obtained  your  egg,  with  the  drill  between 
your  thumb  and  finger  carefully  pierce  a  hole  in  the  side 
you  intend  to  place  downward  in  your  cabinet,  making 
the  hole  in  size  proportionate  to  the  egg.  Then  delicately 
holding  the  egg  with  the  hole  downwards  between  the 
thumb  and  finger  of  your  left  hand,  take  the  blowpipe  in 
your  right,  and  place  the  smaller  end  of  it  near  the  hole, 
and  by  blowing  steadily  the  contents  will  soon  be  re- 
moved. Now  fill  your  blowpipe  with  water,  and  blow  a 
small  quantity  into  the  egg  :  then  shake  it  well,  and  re- 
move with  the  blowpipe.  This  must  be  repeated  until 
the  water  comes  out  pure  and  unstained,  and  then  your 
egg  is  ready  for  the  following  operation.  You  are 
doubtless  aware  that  inside  the  egg  is  a  delicate  white 
membrane  attached  to  the  shell :  this  requires  to  be  pre- 
served from  the  attacks  of  insects,  and  to  attain  your 
object  proceed  as  follows.  With  a  glass  syringe  proceed 
to  inject  a  small  quantity  of  alcohol  in  which  has  been 
dissolved  a  little  corrosive  sublimate,  and  then,  having 
well  shaken  your  egg,  you  can  remove  the  remains  of  the 
preserving  liquid  with  the  blowpipe,  and  the  shell  is  then 
free  from  the  depredations  of  insects,  and  the  membrane 
will  retain  its  pure  and  spotless  hue  for  ever.  Place  the 
egg,  hole  downwards,  on  a  sheet  of  blotting  paper  to 
dry.  It  is  imperative  that  your  eggs  should  thus  be 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBJECTS.  365 

preserved,  otherwise  they  are  constantly  exposed  to  the 
attacks  of  insects,  as  I  know  full  well,  having  lost 
several  valuable  eggs  through  neglecting  these  precau- 
tions. 

Should  your  eggs  be  hard  set,  you  will  need  no  small 
amount  of  care  and  trouble  in  blowing  them,  and  I 
should  advise  you  to  leave  them,  when  you  find  them 
thus,  to  their  owners'  care.  However,  rare  specimens  in 
this  condition  are  often  obtained,  and  .it  is  well  to  be 
acquainted  with  some  means  by  which  the  contents  can 
be  removed. 

In  the  case  of  a  hard  set  egg,  I  would  advise  you  to 
make  the  hole  rather  larger  than  usual,  and  then  try 
what  you  can  remove  with  the  blowpipe.  Insert  water 
into  the  egg  and  shake  well,  and  then  again  use  your 
blowpipe.  Pieces  of  the  embryo  chick  within  you  can 
now  easily  remove  with  a  large  pin,  the  point  turned  in 
the  shape  of  a  hook — a  crochet  needle,  for  the  larger 
eggs,  answers  the  purpose  admirably.  And  thus  you 
must  proceed,  removing  the  contents  bit  by  bit,  and  not 
forgetting  to  use  plenty  of  water,  occasionally  stirring 
the  contents  well  with  your  hook,  and  in  some  instances 
it  is  best  to  allow  the  egg  to  stand  for  a  day  or  so  with 
a  little;  water  inside.  By  following  these  few  simple  in- 
structions you  may,  with  care,  empty  the  worst  eggs  ; 
but  I  must  impress  upon  you  the  necessity  of  patience 
and  perseverance,  coupled  with  no  small  amount  of 
tenderness  in  handling. 

In  your  collecting  expeditions  I  would  recommend 
you  to  take  with  you  a  box  and  a  quantity  of  cotton 
wool,  in  which  to  pack  your  specimens.  Take  your 
drill  and  blowpipe,  too  ;  and  always  make  it  a  practice, 
as  far  as  possible,  to  blow  your  eggs  as  soon  as  obtained  : 
you  can  finish  them  when  you  get  home,  according  to 


366  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

the  above  instructions.  The  reason  for  this  is  obvious. 
Eggs  are  far  easier  to  carry  when  empty  than  when 
full,  and  the  risk  of  breaking  them  is  greatly  diminished. 
You  will  also  find  that  the  best  method  of  bringing  eggs 
down  trees  is  to  put  them  in  your  hat,  with  a  little  cotton 
wool. 

Again,  you  must  be  extremely  cautious  how  you 
attempt  to  clean  any  of  your  specimens  by  washing 
them,  for  in  many  eggs  the  colouring  matter  is  easily 
removed,  especially  if  they  be  but  newly  laid.  So  also 
I  would  advise  you  not  to  varnish  your  specimens,  to 
make  them  brilliant,  such  proceeding  giving  your  eggs  a 
very  artificial  look,  and  being  directly  opposed  to  nature. 
In  many  specimens  you  will  find  the  colours  after  some 
little  time  fade  considerably,  but  as  far  as  I  am  aware  no 
method  has  yet  been  discovered  which  prevents  this 
taking  place.  The  best  and  only  plan  is  to  keep  them 
from  exposure  to  the  light  as  much  as  possible. 

The  above  remarks  apply  to  the  means  for  preserv- 
ing the  egg  ;  but  before  your  specimen  is  ready  for  the 
cabinet  something  further  has  yet  to  be  done,  and  which, 
if  neglected,  causes  all  your  previous  trouble  to  be  in 
vain  if  you  wish  your  collection  to  be,  in  a  scientific 
sense,  truly  valuable.  As  soon  as  your  egg  is  obtained 
and  blown,  place  upon  it  in  lead  pencil  some  letter  or 
number,  as  reference  to  your  memorandum  book,  which 
should  always  be  carried  with  you,  and  in  which  must 
be  noted  the  following  particulars  relating  to  it.  The 
date  upon  which  it  was  taken,  the  locality,  the  situation 
of  the  nest,  any  peculiarities  you  may  notice  in  the  site  or 
eggs,  or  in  the  conduct  of  the  parent  birds,  and  any 
other  interesting  fact  connected  therewith.  This  will 
suffice  until  you  reach  home,  when  these  remarks  must 
be  transferred  to  the  note-book  proper,  relating  to  your 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBJECTS.  367 

collection,  and  which  should  be  headed  in  the  following 
manner. 

The  first  column  of  your  note-book  will  contain  your 
own  number,  progressive  of  course  ;  the  second  will 
contain  the  number  attached  to  the  species  on  the 
printed  list  of  birds  you  adopt  for  reference  ;  the  third 
will  contain  the  name  of  the  species  ;  the  fourth  the  date 
on  which  it  was  collected  ;  the  fifth  the  locality  in  which 
it  was  taken  ;  the  sixth  the  name  of  the  collector;  the 
seventh  the  situation  of  the  nest  ;  and  the  eighth  should 
be  set  apart  for  any  general  remarks  of  importance. 
The  collector  can  abolish  a  part  of  these  columns,  and 
simply  retain  the  first  two,  and  put  the  remainder  of 
the  matter  in  one  general  column.  The  former  mode, 
however,  I  consider  to  have  the  preference,  although 
certainly  more  elaborate,  for  the  several  items  of  interest 
can  be  reviewed  at  a  glance. 

Now  as  to  the  egg  itself.  With  a  pen  and  ink  proceed 
to  mark  on  the  shell,  as  neatly  as  possible,  the  catalogue 
number  and  your  own  -private  number,  placing  the 
former  just  over  the  hole  in  the  side  of  the  egg,  and  the 
latter  beneath  it,  on  the  other  side  of  the  hole  near  the 
small  end  of  the  egg.  Of  course  eggs  of  the  same  clutch 
will  be  numbered  alike.  These  numbers,  if  done  well, 
will  look  very  neat,  and  are  far  preferable  to  labels,  which 
are  always  liable  to  get  rubbed  off  or  become  soiled  and 
dirty.  The  side  of  the  egg  containing  the  hole  and  the 
reference  numbers  is  turned  downwards  in  the  cabinet, 
and  what  appears  to  be  a  perfect  egg  is  exposed  to  view. 
The  simplicity  and  utility  of  this  method  of  arranging 
your  specimens  enable  you  to  obtain  easy  reference  to 
them,  and  of  course  enhances  their  value. 

I  scarcely  need  impress  upon  the  collector  the 
desirability  of  thoroughly  authenticating  his  specimens, 


36 S  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

receiving  none  into  his  cabinet  round  which  hangs  the 
least  shadow  of  suspicion  and  doubt.  Observe  the 
parent  bird — both  if  possible — before  taking  the  eggs. 
This  will  bring  you  into  habits  of  exactness  and  correct- 
ness, and  I  may  also  say  enlighten  you  considerably  in 
the  various  little  secrets  of  the  birds  themselves. 

The  nests  of  the  smaller  birds  are  also  equally  as 
interesting  as  the  eggs.  They  should  be  taken  if  possible 
before  the  birds  have  commenced  to  sit,  and,  where 
practicable,  the  branch  or  twig  on  which  they  rest  should 
always  be  removed.  As  nests  are  liable  to  harbour 
insects,  it  is  a  good  plan  to  apply  a  solution  of  corrosive 
sublimate  dissolved  in  alcohol.  The  same  plan  of  refer- 
ence can  be  adopted,  with  the  exception  that  small 
labels  should  be  firmly  attached  with  string,  on  which 
are  placed  the  numbers.  I  need  not  inform  you  that 
nests  must  receive  no  rough  usage,  and  should  be  kept 
carefully,  otherwise  their  beautiful  symmetry  vanishes, 
and  they  present  an  appearance  totally  foreign  to  their 
once  matchless  beauty. 

The  ornithological  student  will  find  that  the  preser- 
vation of  birds  is  a  far  more  difficult  and  tedious  process 
than  preserving  eggs.  Practice  and  perseverance,  how- 
ever, will  ensure  his  ultimate  success.  Before  noticing 
the  actual  process  of  skinning  a  bird,  it  may  not  be  out 
of  place  to  give  a  few  hints  on  the  mode  of  collecting 
them. 

The  seasons  birds  should  be  obtained  are  when  they 
are  in  the  finest  plumage,  in  the  autumn  and  winter 
months,  and  just  prior  to  their  nesting  season.  The 
collector  should  use  dust  shot  for  all  the  smaller  birds  ; 
nothing  larger  than  No.  8  for  birds  up  to  the  size  of  a 
Plover ;  and  so  on,  increasing  the  size  of  the  shot  for 
the  larger  species.  Should  the  bird  be  still  alive  when 


ORNITHOLOGICAL    OBJECTS.  369 


picked  up,  it  must  be  pressed  firmly  beneath  the  wings, 
and  it  soon  ceases  to  exist.  Fill  the  shot  holes  with 
cotton  wool,  also  the  mouth,  and  then  wrap  carefully  up 
in  fine  tissue  paper  before  placing  'in  your  game  bag. 
By  following  out  these  few  simple  items  your  bird  will 
seldom  become  stained,  or  its  plumage  ruffled,  in  which 
case,  by  the  way,  it  js  next  to  impossible  to  produce  a 
satisfactory  specimen.  Should  the  bird,  in  spite  of  all 
your  care,  become  blood-stained,  you  can  remove  the 
stains  with  the  aid  of  a  little  warm  water  applied  with 
cotton  wool.  When  you  dry  the  feathers,  keep  constantly 
agitating  them  with  the  blade  of  your  penknife  or  a 
little  stick.  If  you  neglect  this  precaution,  the  feathers 
when  dry  will  present  a  very  ragged  and  miserable 
appearance. 

A  word  as  to  the  instruments  used  in  dissecting  a 
bird.  The  operator  needs  no  more  than  a  sharp  pen- 
knife and  a  pair  of  scissors  with  finely  pointed  blades  ; 
together  with  cotton  wool,  tow,  needle  and  thread,  and, 
lastly,  a  little  glass  bottle  of  solution  of  corrosive  subli- 
mate .dissolved  in  alcohol,  similar  to  that  used  for  pre- 
serving eggs.  Cases  of  instruments  for  skinning  birds, 
elaborate  and  expensive  alike,  are  offered  for  sale  ;  but  I 
would  advise  you  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  them  :  the 
simpler  your  appliances  the  better.  The  articles  I  have 
named  are  fit  for  every  purpose,  provided  they  are 
used  with  a  gentle  hand. 

Supposing,  then,  that  your  bird  is  secured.  Place  it, 
with  the  head  pointing  to  your  right  shoulder,  on  your 
dissecting  table,  on  which  should  be  spread  a  sheet  of 
cotton  wool — this  will  prevent  the  plumage  of  your 
specimen  from  becoming  deranged — and  proceed  as 
follows.  With  the  back  of  your  knife  blade  evenly  part 
the  plumage  from  the  lowdr  part  of  the  breast  quite  to 

B  B 


3/0  RURAL   BIRD  LIFE. 

the  vent.  Now  cut  the  skin  on  the  breast  with  the  knife 
for  a  little  way,  and  then,  with  the  fine-pointed  scissors, 
you  can,  with  the  greatest  ease,  cut  the  skin  to  the  vent. 
Care  should  be  taken  whilst  performing  this  operation 
to  only  cut  the  outer  skin,  for  if  the  inner  one  is  severed 
the  bowels  will  protrude,  and  soil  the  plumage.  With 
the  scissors,  however,  the  difficulty,  with  the  least  amount 
of  care,  is  almost  overcome. 

Still  keeping  the  bird  in  the  same  position,  proceed 
to  gently  push  the  skin  away  from  the  body  on  the  left 
side,  adding  wool  between  the  skin  and  the  body  as  you 
proceed,  until  the  thigh  appears.  Then  with  the  scissors 
sever  the  thigh  bone  a  little  below  the  middle  joint,  and 
on  the  part  of  the  thigh  remaining  on  the  carcass  of  the 
bird,  tie  a  piece  of  your  thread  about  six  inches  long. 
Now,  turning  the  bird  round,  so  that  its  tail  will  point  to 
your  right  shoulder,  do  exactly  the  same  on  that  side, 
not  neglecting  to  fasten  a  similar  piece  of  thread  on  the 
other  thigh  :  the  reason  for  this  will  be  seen  shortly. 

Now,  by  gently  pressing  the  skin  from  the  flesh  on 
each  side,  always  bearing  in  mind  that  you  must  apply 
wool  as  soon  as  the  skin  is  removed  from  the  body,  to 
keep  the  plumage  free  from  grease  and .  dirt,  you  are 
enabled  to  reach  quite  down  to  the  root  of  the  tail, 
where  with  your  knife  you  must  cut  deeply  into  the  flesh 
until  the  backbone  appears,  which  with  your  scissors  is 
now  easily  severed,  and  the  tail  is  dissected  from  the 
body.  You  need  do  no  more  here  at  present,  save 
applying  a  quantity  of  wool  to  protect  the  plumage  from 
harm.  You  will  now  see  the  use  of  the  strings  which 
you  previously  tied  on  the  thighs  of  your  bird.  These 
two  strings  tied  together  form  a  noose  on  which  the  bird 
can  be  suspended  while  you  complete  the  operation  of 
skinning  it,  an  item  that  will  greatly  aid  you  in  your 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBJECTS.  371 


labours,  and  at  the  same  time  prevent  the  plumage  from 
becoming  ruffled.  Care  must  be  taken,  however,  that  you 
do  not  stretch  the  skin,  or  your  trouble  will  be  useless, 
and  your  labours  will  not  please  you. 

From  time  to  time,  as  you  proceed,  it  is  well  to 
examine  the  bird  and  see  that  the  plumage  is  straight. 

The  skin  is  now  easily  separated  from  the  body  right 
down  to  the  wing  joints  ;  but  I  would  have  you  to  re- 
member that  on  the  back  the  skin  is  very  tender,  and 
must  on  no  account  be  pulled,  but  must  always  be  re- 
moved by  gently  pressing  with  your  thumb.  The  wing 
bones  now  appear,  which  must  be  severed  with  the  scissors, 
close  to  the  body.  The  main  difficulties  are  now  over, 
and  you  will  find  the  skin  is  easily  removed  from  the 
breast  and  neck,  right  down  to  the  skull :  here,  however, 
you  must  use  the  greatest  caution.  The  ear  roots,  which 
lie  very  deep,  must  be  cut  out,  and  great  care  used,  or 
you  will  tear  the  skin  to  a  certainty.  After  having  dis- 
sected the  ears,  by  dint  of  pressing  the  skin  with  your 
thumb,  the  eyes  will  appear,  over  which  is  a  delicate  blue 
membrane.  This  must  be  cut  very  carefully,  otherwise 
you  spoil  the  orbits  of  the  eye,  a  disaster,  by  the  way, 
without  remedy.  After  dissecting  the  skin  from  the 
eyes  you  are  enabled  to  reach  the  beak. 

At  this  stage  you  must  now  lay  your  specimen  on 
the  table  again,  taking  care  not  to  stretch  the  skin  nor 
soil  the  plumage.  Then,  with  the  point  of  your  knife, 
gouge  out  the  eyes,  taking  care  not  to  burst  them.  Then, 
by  cutting  off  the  hinder  portion  of  the  skull  with  your 
knife,  you  are  enabled  to  remove  the  brains.  Cut  away 
the  fleshy  parts  adhering  to  the  skull  and  throat,  also 
removing  the  tongue.  The  skin  is  now  completely  dis- 
sected from  the  body  ;  but  still  much  remains  to  be 
done  if  you  wish  to  produce  a  pleasing  specimen. 


372  RURAL  BIRD  LIFE. 

Having  now  cleaned  the  skull,  you  must  proceed  to 
apply  the  solution  to  all  parts  of  it,  and  to  the  skin  of 
the  head  and  neck  as  well.  Fill  the  sockets  of  the  eyes 
with  wool.  Before  going  further  you  now  turn  the  skin 
back  again,  for  you  will  note  that  it  is  now  inside  out 
as  it  were.  Holding  the  skin  between  your  fingers,  with 
the  head  towards  you,  gently  push  it  back  again  through 
die  neck,  until  you  see  the  beak  appearing.  Seize  the 
beak  now  between  your  thumb  and  finger,  and,  by  gently 
pulling,  the  head  will  gradually  slip  through,  and  your  skin 
is  turned  back  again  without  the  loss  of  feathers.  In 
some  birds,  as  Ducks,  Woodpeckers,  Plovers,  &c.,  the  head 
is  very  bulky,  and  this  operation  must  be  effected  with  the 
greatest  care,  or  else  the  skin  will  be  inevitably  torn. 

The  wing  bones  are  now  cleaned  of  the  muscles  and 
tendons,  the  skin  being  removed  until  you  see  the  roots 
of  the  quill  feathers,  proceeding  with  the  greatest  caution, 
always  shoving  the  skin  with  your  thumb,  for  the  skin 
here  adheres  to  the  bone,  and  is  removed  with  difficulty. 
Having  cleaned  both  these  bones,  apply  the  solution  to 
these  parts,  for  you  will  not  be  able  to  reach  them  again, 
and  then  tie  a  piece  of  thread  to  each  of  them,  about  six 
inches  long.  Tie  the  bones  together,  adjusting  them  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  leave  the  same  space  between  them 
as  existed  before  the  bird  was  dissected  :  this  will  cause 
the  wings  of  your  specimen  to  keep  their  place. 

Now  proceed  to  clean  the  thigh  bones.  Seizing  the 
leg  and  foot  in  your  left  hand,  and  holding  the  skin  in 
your  right,  by  pressing  gently  upwards  the  skin  is  soon 
separated,  and  the  thigh  appears.  After  cleansing  this 
of  all  flesh  and  tendons,  proceed  to  anoint  the  bone  and 
skin  with  the  solution,  and  then  wrap  the  bone  with  tow, 
forming  as  near  approach  to  the  thigh  as  possible.  By 
gently  pulling  the  leg  and  foot  the  bone  will  slip  back 
to  its  place :  the  same  must  be  done  to  the  other  thigh. 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBJECTS.  373 

The  root  of  the  tail  remains  to  be  dissected  of  all 
the  flesh  and  fat  that  adheres  to  it,  taking  care  to  remove 
the  oil  gland.  Anoint  well  with  the  solution,  and  also 
apply  the  solution  now  to  the  other  parts  of  the  skin 
which  have  not  already  received  it,  and  then  you  have 
the  perfect  skin  of  your  bird  ready  for  the  finishing 
process. 

Obtain  a  piece  of  wire — wood  answers  the  purpose  a^ 
well — and  proceed  to  wrap  it  round  with  wool,  to  make 
an  artificial  neck,  which,  after  the  wool  that  was  placed 
inside  during  the  operation  of  skinning  is  removed,  must 
be  pushed  up  the  neck  of  the  skin,  care  being  taken  that 
it  is  not  too  long,  for  if  allowed  to  dry  in  that  position 
no  skill  can  afterwards  remedy  it.  The  body  of  the 
bird  is  now  filled  with  cotton  wool,  care  being  taken  to 
make  your  specimen  a  little  more  bulky  than  it  was 
originally,  to  allow  for  it  shrinking,  and  with  your  needle 
and  thread  proceed  to  sew  up  the  skin,  beginning  on  the 
breast  and  ending  at  the  tail,  being  careful  not  to  dis- 
arrange the  plumage. 

Here  then  lies  your  specimen,  looking  a  trifle  larger 
than  before,  but  otherwise  resembling  it  in  its  general 
appearance.  Now,  as  a  finishing  touch,  anoint  the  mouth 
and  throat  with  the  solution,  the  orbits  of  the  eyes,  which 
should  be  properly  adjusted  with  your  needle,  the  tips  of 
the  wing-bones,  and,  finally,  the  legs  and  feet.  Arrange 
any  of  the  plumage  that  may  chance  to  be  disordered, 
and  your  specimen,  if  you  have  minutely  followed  these 
few  brief  instructions,  will  please  you,  and  you  need  have 
no  fear  that  the  insects  will  attack  it,  or  that  its  pristine 
beauty  will  materially  fade. 

A  word  as  to  your  plan  of  reference,  and  then  I  will 
conclude.  You  may  adopt  a  similar  plan  to  that  recom- 
mended for  eggs  ;  but  on  a  label,  attached  to  the  leg  of 
the  bird,  should  be  noted  the  following  particulars. 


374  RURAL  HIRD  LIFE. 

The  two  reference  numbers,  the  name  of  the  collector, 
the  sex,  the  date  and  locality,  and  also  the  colours  of 
the  legs,  bill,  and  iris,  and  other  part's,  as  caruncles, 
wattles,  &c.,  which  fade  considerably  soon  after  death. 

As  your  skin  is  drying,  it  must  be  looked  at  from 
day  to  day,  and  any  little  needful  matters  attended  to. 
When  dry,  your  specimen  should  be  wrapped  in  tissue 
paper,  and  kept  from  the  light  as  much  as  possible.  Of 
course  these  remarks  do  not  profess  to  instruct  the  novice 
in  the  art  of  stuffing  birds,  but  simply  in  preserving  their 
skins.  They  are  certainly  better  kept  as  such,  than 
mounted  on  a  wrong  principle,  as  is  the  present  custom  ; 
and  therefore  I  withhold  instructions  that  would  only 
lead  to  far  from  pleasing  results. 

I  cannot  do  better  than  conclude  these  few  remarks 
on  preserving  ornithological  specimens,  by  quoting 
the  remarks  of  Mr.  Waterton,  when  treating  with  this 
subject,  and  I  will  express  the  hope  that  he  who  makes 
a  practice  of  collecting  and  preserving  these  objects  will 
do  so  in  the  spirit  of  a  true  naturalist—namely,  as  one 
who  dislikes  to  destroy  life,  and  only  does  so  of  neces- 
sity. For  should  these  instructions  '  unfortunately  tend 
to  cause  a  wanton  expense  of  life — should  they  tempt 
you  to  shoot  the  pretty  songster  warbling  near  your 
door,  or  destroy  the  mother  as  she  is  sitting  on  the  nest 
to  warm  her  little  ones,  or  kill  the  father  as  he  is  bring- 
ing a  mouthful  of  food  for  their  support — oh,  then !  deep 
indeed  will  be  the  regret  that  I  ever  wrote  them.' 


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